


Since Last Goodbye

by Skinner (psiten)



Series: Serious [5]
Category: Prince of Tennis
Genre: Germany - Freeform, Happy Ending, Injury, M/M, Olympics, Relationship Problems, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2009-11-17
Updated: 2011-01-24
Packaged: 2017-10-03 05:11:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 58,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psiten/pseuds/Skinner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <blockquote>
<br/><i>Despite the nervous thump in his chest, his head was clear enough now to recognize the look in his friend’s eyes. They were sparkling in a way that he could never forget meant 'trouble' no matter how long he'd been abroad.</i>
<br/></blockquote><p>There's no such thing as a life with no regrets. When Tezuka realizes his decision to leave Japan cost him something he'd never considered, taking Fuji back seems impossible; but sometimes there are things you just have to do. (Update: 24 January 2011 -- Chapter 10)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

~ Prologue ~

     He could see the wind, his mother had always said, because of the blue in his eyes. Whether that was true or not, Fuji Syuusuke had no desire to learn for certain. As he rose from the lunge that had nearly caught the last shot of the match, at least for that moment it wasn't his eyes alone that knew the way the breeze moved. He could tell from the scent exactly where it had been, and he could hear every rustle of the wind in the leaves. He could even taste the salt of the sea in the air, a colder, fresher salt than the biting taste of the sweat running down his cheeks. Perhaps his sense of touch was extending beyond his fingertips, covering the tennis court as the daylight slowly dimmed, because even if he shut his eyes too tight to see, Fuji Syuusuke knew exactly how and where the wind was blowing. His opponent stood in the center of a gentle storm, as if all of the air were swirling and fighting for the chance to stand next to him... _Or maybe I'm just projecting_, Fuji amended. But after that match... _a three-set match_, Fuji thought, grinning slightly... even though he'd lost and that had hurt, he had never been more certain that no one could stand closer to Tezuka Kunimitsu than he did.  
     His limbs were trembling to the point where Fuji was afraid he wouldn't make the short walk to the net without his legs betraying him. In all three years that they'd been classmates and clubmates, as close as they had grown, this was the first time he and Tezuka had really been alone together. Even that time during their freshman year, when he'd tried to arrange a secret match, they had been found. _I knew, didn't I? I knew I wouldn't be able to ever just shake his hand and walk away from this match. But there's no way I could have known how this would feel._ The finals against Rikkai had left him at once refreshed and still unsatisfied. He may have been playing against Tezuka's moves, but that hadn't been Tezuka. The Rikkai player's counterfeit tennis didn't contain anything near the power Tezuka could put into one glance, and that tease of a match had whet his appetite for the real thing. Having tried it now, Fuji knew he'd always want more.  
     Tezuka was still standing mid-court, watching him approach the net with eyes narrowed slightly in rapt attention. Sweat dripped from his hair, a wind-swept, gorgeous mess as always. Fuji met his gaze without flinching. Sometimes, he could tell just what Tezuka was thinking, and he knew his thoughts were understood in turn. He hoped this was one of those times. Fuji wanted to see how Tezuka would react if that man could read what he was feeling right now. All of his lust, all of his longing he put into his gaze and his posture as well as he was able. _I want you to know, Tezuka, exactly how much I want you right now..._ Seeing his captain's eyes traveling slowly over his body as he walked put a little swing into Fuji's step. The man looked hungry. It almost made Fuji's mouth water just imagining what thoughts were running behind those eyes. Over their three years at Seishun, he'd only grown more certain of the distinctly non-platonic longings Tezuka stirred up inside him. Every day they'd spent together, everything he'd learned and seen distilled what he'd thought to be an ordinary crush into a more potent emotion. And if Fuji were ever going to act on that, ever see enough of that longing returned to risk laying open what he felt... it would be at a time exactly like this, when it was just the two of them alone and Tezuka's eyes burned like a wild beast's with its prey in its sights.  
     It hadn't quite occurred to Fuji before exactly how sexy it felt to have the man you wanted wanting you, or at least looking at you as shamelessly as Tezuka was staring at him now. _Should I try something bold, tell him he doesn't have to just look...?_ Maybe that wouldn't do. Tezuka had never been the type for longing gazes. He'd always been good, responsible, respectful... and getting past his reserved, stoic shell wasn't particularly possible for most people, though the result was worth the effort to those who could. If the Tezuka he knew weren't still hot from the match, still in that place where reason couldn't follow, Fuji doubted he'd be letting himself stare like that. And if he didn't realize he was staring, telling him he should do more than look might not get the response that was desired. Fuji had to get him closer, get him talking, get Tezuka thinking just enough... but not too much.  
     "Your game," he said with a smile, waiting patiently at the net. "You got me completely."  
     Tezuka's eyes never left him. "This time." His voice was low and rich; on an ordinary day, the sound of it could set Fuji's hair on end. Today, those words and the promise they contained nearly broke the heart that was already throbbing so hard in his chest. To say _this time_ implied a next time, a prospect that was beyond pleasing. Fuji ran his hand through his hair, waiting ever so patiently, watching Tezuka watch him during the excessively long walk to the net. He knew Tezuka was walking at a normal pace, but the moment when their bodies would meet, their lips touch, when he could say out loud _exactly_ what he thought about his captain -- that moment couldn't come fast enough. He'd had his uncertainties, naturally; had he not, this conversation would have taken place long ago. Tezuka Kunimitsu was not the most expressive of men, nor the easiest to distract from his duties. But right now, Fuji knew, he had Tezuka's full attention. The National Tournament was over, Tezuka would start training next year's replacement soon, and that had been a _very_ good game... His breath caught as Tezuka approached the net at last, close enough to smell the heady musk of game sweat coming through the scent of the soap Tezuka used. Before he spoke again, Tezuka lifted his hand to brush the bangs out of Fuji's eyes, running through the length of his hair with his fingers. There was no light left to reflect on the lenses of Tezuka's glasses and obscure the emotions stirring in his eyes. Fuji swallowed once, suddenly nervous. Breathing was overrated anyway. Tezuka's voice stirred again, as the man's hand drifted down to Fuji's cheek. "You played well."  
     "You did, too. Tezuka..." He paused, not quite sure of what he was supposed to say. Was there a good preamble? Or would it be better to just confess, now, quickly?  
     "Fuji," Tezuka said. "There's something... I feel I need to tell you." _Or I could just listen to what he has to say..._ Fuji thought, finding that making his mouth form words was difficult even when he'd decided what they should be. It didn't seem to be much easier for Tezuka, of course, but since he'd declared the intention to speak it was only fair to let him try. The air between them was still and quiet, and a frown troubled at the corners of Fuji's mouth. Tezuka's eyes were burning, certainly, but some kind of conflict was the most evident thing. Whatever Tezuka planned to say, it was because he considered it necessary and not at all because he wanted to express it. His opponent took a deep breath. "Last time, I kept wishing that I'd told you first..." One by one, Fuji felt that all his vital functions were shutting down. _This can't be happening. Not now._  
     He didn't have a long list of last times to examine for one that Tezuka might imagine would concern him so. Fuji's hand was clenched around part of Tezuka's shirt, and he'd found his voice at last. "You're _leaving_?" The words tasted bad, like it ought to be a lie or a joke, but that man wasn't capable of that kind of deceit. Which just made things worse. If he wasn't lying and he wasn't joking, that meant it was true.  
     "I'm going back to Germany." Everything seemed to freeze. In the very conclusiveness of his tone Fuji could hear the worst implied. This time wasn't going to just be for a few months, not with the gravity in Tezuka's voice. This statement wasn't followed by promises that he'd make it home in time for Nationals. Or for anything. He was just going; Tezuka wasn't coming home at all. His voice wavered slightly when he started speaking next, and Fuji hoped it was because the look in his own eyes was giving Tezuka second thoughts. "I plan to go professional."  
     That one had the ring, not of a lie, but of being less than the whole truth. Everyone knew Tezuka should be a professional with the level of skill he had. That didn't mean he had to go all the way to Germany, specifically, immediately... He wasn't even quite fifteen. And the only reason Fuji could imagine that it had to be Germany... he had been so sure it couldn't be true. Fuji put all the calm that he could find into his speech. "I thought your arm was healed."  
     The only reactions in his captain's face were a flicker in his eyes and a twitch at one corner of his mouth. That was enough, and Tezuka knew it. "I'm playing at full strength, Fuji." He said it with such complete sincerity that had anyone been here to watch, they would have needed to be within six inches of the two players to know that this was not going according to Fuji's hopes; from further away, there would be no means of knowing that Tezuka's passionate whispers were about tennis. The thing that upset Fuji most of all was the fact that Tezuka's talk of tennis could make him feel this way. He appreciated the sentiment on several levels, most noticeably in the way that the soft touch of Tezuka's hand still on his cheek told him that this moment could be the closest he'd ever be to hearing Tezuka say, _I care about you_. Because Tezuka was leaving. "If I don't correct the flaws in my form, next time the damage may be irreparable." Tezuka's glance wavered a little, as if he had only just now noticed his hand touching Fuji's face. Without mentioning it, the hand fell casually away. The slow return to sensibility had begun, Fuji thought, setting his jaw to stop the weak trembling he felt beginning. "With the Nationals over, and the team doing fine... this is the time--"  
     "To say goodbye?" _I'm not going to cry... I'm not going to beg him to stay..._ But he couldn't keep everything he was feeling out of his voice.  
     The man who didn't regret anything paused, looking at him with an expression of gaze more eloquent than his expressions of tongue had ever quite managed. "To go. I'd... rather not say goodbye. To you, at least."  
     "Meaning _what_?" Saying it or not didn't change anything, after all. Not now. He'd said enough. "Maybe you think... the team doesn't need you anymore, so going is okay. But you'll still be _gone_." Fuji's grip tightened on his racket as his other hand fisted in Tezuka's shirt. He wanted to say, _I'll miss you_, but the words wouldn't come out. He wasn't going to beg for Tezuka not to leave. Not here, not now, not when he'd already made all his decisions. "If this is goodbye, then say it."  
     "If you keep playing, I'll see you again."  
     That was his captain's conclusion and reason and complete lack of understanding all in once sentence, Fuji knew. It meant that Tezuka expected to see him in the pros, and he'd never considered anything else. It meant that he wasn't going to even get a real goodbye because Tezuka didn't see that this was really leaving. It meant that Tezuka didn't have a clue at all, not about what being gone meant. But if he needed a clue, he'd get one, Fuji decided. "I might not go professional, Tezuka. I definitely won't, if I don't see you there first." He hoped that glimmer of confusion in his captain's eyes meant that he was feeling even one hundredth of the finality of parting this way. Fuji's hand shook just a little where he was still gripping Tezuka's shirt, and he pushed up onto his toes, his heart pounding so hard that his ribs felt like breaking and his head was filled with the sound of it as he gave Tezuka his first kiss. The thought brushed against his conciousness that this wasn't wise, that he was doing this the wrong way... that he was panicking and this would probably hurt more than if he hadn't tried; but Tezuka was kissing him back. For one terrible moment, when Tezuka's arms wrapped around his waist and one of them deepened the kiss... he would never be sure who it was... Fuji saw clearly how unwise it was. Because not a thing had changed. _But I'm not going to cry, damn it. I'm not going to cry over this._ He pulled back and breathed, opening his eyes and hoping he'd see something in Tezuka's face to imply that he was sorry to go. Something to say he got it now, all of it.  
     But no such luck, apparently. "... Fuji," was all his captain said before trailing off into silence, sounding almost lost and looking so very _confused_, as if he hadn't even noticed that he was still holding Fuji close in those damned arms of his.  
     _What do you think you're doing, Tezuka, kissing me that way and not even knowing what's going on?_ He wasn't going to cry. Not a single tear. As much as he was shaking inside, he was never going to let Tezuka see how this hurt. The only way he'd ever see it was by feeling it for himself. "Come back soon, Tezuka. Or go pro before I change my mind." All he could do was walk away, pretending to be more steady than he was. Fuji brushed some hair out of his eyes, stepping back out of Tezuka's embrace. "Or if you really do want to see me so much, I'm sure we'll run into each other someday. But don't expect me to wait around for you."  
     The wind bit at his eyes as he turned and walked away. He had to close them for a moment. But he wasn't crying.

~ Chapter One ~

     The life he was leading seemed so often to be standing still, although he knew it was moving. Seasons changed, the faces around him changed... hospital staff left and were replaced, or slowly grew older. The face he saw in the mirror had grown older, too, even if he only knew because the pictures he kept in a box in his dresser hadn't changed at all. Still, there was some small feeling in his core that Tezuka could only describe as not feeling the passage of time, or at least not _accepting_ the passage of time. It was as if the years were swirling around him, just out of reach, and he couldn't move back into the proper flow. By now he knew the reason. He'd learned it too late, but he knew. How much he'd wanted to stay in Japan - despite knowing that he had to leave - had taken him by surprise. One moment of surprise on a darkening court when his instincts had moved faster than his thoughts. In that one moment, the strangeness he had felt inside every time he'd looked at Fuji suddenly had context and purpose and an answer.  
     Tezuka turned a photograph over in his fingers, the one Kikumaru had taken after Seishun had won the finals at the end of the middle school season. It was a picture of him standing next to Fuji, standing close as they used to do. It had been taken over two years ago... no, more than three years ago now. He still hadn't managed to remove the picture from his notebook to keep it with the rest of his memories of home, as often as he'd tried. There was no sense in holding on to that image of the past; Tezuka knew that perfectly well, and he knew any of his friends would have said so. No doubt they would have told Fuji the same thing had he needed to hear it. Tezuka was aware that he had to think about moving forward with the choices he'd made three years ago without allowing regret for the chances that he'd recognized too late. He knew that. Knowing didn't ease the occasional tightness in his chest when he breathed, nor the homesick feeling he still had when he looked at the rising sun.  
     So this one photograph stayed loose in the pages of his journal. It didn't even mark his page; it was just there, turning up every so often to smile at him. One of the friendlier nurses had caught him contemplating it back in the first month after he returned. _Oh, leave a girl behind, did you?_ she'd asked, _So young to be so serious!_ Then she'd made some comment about disappointment among a few of the young ladies on staff. He'd protested, naturally, and she'd caught a glimpse of the photo. That had quieted her for a moment, but in the end she winked and said, _Well, girl or boy, it's not easy leaving someone special._ Fuji's image had just smiled, standing next to a former him, forever captured there in the end of their days together, before he'd had a complete understanding of that attraction, before whatever had happened had... happened. Everything had been such a blur, and Fuji was gone before he could process anything. There had been no time for questions, no time for explanations. Fuji hadn't come to the next practice when Tezuka told everyone he was leaving, and his flight had been just a few days later. That was the last they'd spoken. By the time he'd arrived in Germany, it already seemed too late to ask forgiveness.  
     Tezuka had turned eighteen recently, so Fuji would be seventeen for the next few months. _I suppose he'd call himself four and a half, not eighteen, when the time comes,_ he thought with a hint of a smile. That sort of thing was unlikely to change, no matter what else did. Certain things, assuredly, would be different. By now Fuji was probably a little taller than when they'd been fourteen, his hair might be different, maybe the shape of his face had changed. Unchanging as time _felt_, eighteen made fourteen seem like a lifetime ago, and being in a different country was a bit like being in an entirely different world. There were days when his time at Seishun seemed more like an illusion than a memory, but he knew that wasn't the case. Seigaku wasn't an illusion; it was eight time zones ahead and three years past.  
     _Come back soon_, Fuji had said.  
     _You need to take proper care of yourself, Kunimitsu,_ the doctors told him. _You don't want to do permanent damage, and you have a lot of retraining to do._ After the intensive reconditioning he'd done for the first nine months, he'd been asked to stay on as a sort of intern while the new habits the doctors were trying to instill solidified and replaced the old ones. He was no doctor, but the clinic had considered him an able coach. By then, 'soon' had certainly passed... although he'd felt like 'soon' had passed the instant he'd stepped onto the plane. And so he'd stayed, waiting for the day when hitting the ball felt as natural as breathing again, but that ease of play didn't return. The days piled up, and he became more certain that there wasn't a place waiting for him in the place where he wanted to be.  
     "Kunimitsu," a new orderly called out, and Tezuka found the interruption to his quiet afternoon almost welcome. He wasn't accustomed to all of the staff addressing him in a more familiar fashion than his closest friends had ever done, but it wasn't a point he cared to argue. "You have a visitor."  
     The orderly waved, pointed to the visitor in question, and stepped aside as the young man approached. Tezuka had had a fairly good idea this morning that this particular visitor would be stopping by. A total of two people had ever visited him, though on several occasions each. When Atobe visited, it was on a whim, blowing in on his private jet and doing most of the talking, and those whims hadn't brought him to Germany in almost a year. Echizen, however, visited in a slightly more predictable fashion: because there was a tournament in the area, and he was playing. But he hadn't made the last one, nor had he participated in several other regular tournaments. The media was still questioning why 'Samurai Junior' had disappeared from the circuit almost as suddenly as his father had, and announced his anticipated return some weeks ago with great excitement.  
     "Tezuka-buchou..." Echizen said, taking off his hat to greet him. He'd hit a growth spurt since his last visit; his head came almost to the German orderly's shoulder. "Long time, no see."  
     It was strange to hear Japanese again. Strange, but pleasant. "Echizen," he said with a nod. "You don't need to call me 'captain'." He put the picture of Fuji back inside his journal and stood to meet his former teammate.  
     The young pro shrugged dismissively. Before the hiatus Echizen had taken from playing the circuit, Tezuka hadn't given the title much thought, but by now it was hardly applicable. His visitor didn't seem to care. "I'm starving," Echizen said, skipping the customary pleasantries. A new racketbag was slung over his shoulder, but the hat he now twirled on his finger was the same as always. He'd probably come straight from the tennis arena, given the brief amount of time that had passed since the radio finished broadcasting his win.  
     Tezuka put his journal into his jacket's inside pocket as Echizen came over to stand near the table where he'd been sitting moments before. He was hungry himself, but could well remember how Echizen always reacted to the food in the hospital commissary. There were alternatives, of course, one restaurant having opened recently that his visitor might even like. "We should get Japanese," Tezuka said, buttoning his jacket.  
     Echizen looked dubious. "Actual Japanese?"  
     "Well," he said, pausing to consider the cuisine available. "They have rice."  
     "I'm _so_ there," Echizen said, pulling his hat over his eyes.

~//~

     "So, Echizen. You're back in Japan?" the captain asked, picking up his knife and fork with a wry twist of his lip as he considered the lack of chopsticks.  
     "Yeah." He'd transferred back to Seigaku halfway through his third year of middle school, which had seemed like a whim to most people, but he'd been wanting to do it for awhile. His coach thought he should have stayed on tour, and so did other players -- especially Kevin, but even his school friends when he got back to Japan. His old man was the only person in New York who didn't give him shit for it, but it was the right move. He'd wanted to finish school, and he'd wanted to keep his tennis skills up at the same time. Seigaku was the place. Now... going back on tour for these two weeks was a _whim_. He was leaving the country as much to see Tezuka-buchou as to play, which had to be Atobe's influence. It was a vacation, even if the food sucked in Europe.  
     There was something demoralizing about eating teriyaki with a fork. Ryoma wasn't actually sure if it would have been less demoralizing or more so had the teriyaki been good. He considered the chunks of beef swimming in a sauce that was more red than brown, and decided on 'more demoralizing', but the chance to eat good teriyaki on a trip to Germany would have made up for it. Small European towns got Eastern cuisine about as well as Japan got spaghetti, but the place _did_ have rice.  
     "Any reason?" Tezuka-buchou asked. He looked up from his plate at the face of the man across the table. The captain was looking away, deep in his own thoughts for a moment, the way he got whenever talk of home came up. Echizen knew Tezuka-buchou wasn't any happier abroad than he had been; probably less happy, even if he never said it. Officially, he was still here because his arm might have a problem someday, maybe. Unofficially, Echizen had always thought there was more, but he didn't pry. If the captain had private business he didn't want to talk about, then he wasn't going to talk about it. Ooishi-sempai would have pulled it out of him earlier if they'd been face to face, but Ooishi-sempai could only talk to him over the phone and didn't do it as often as he should; no doubt there were things he didn't think Tezuka-buchou wanted to hear, and maybe thought he didn't need to hear. Echizen guessed that was half his reason for wanting to visit anyway. Someone had to tell him.  
     He shrugged at the captain's question, all his reasons to go home being obvious. "Tennis is better. School's better. _Food's_ better." With a sniff that served as a laugh, Tezuka-buchou poked at the 'ginger pork' in front of him and reached for a cup of tea. Since he'd left before the captain did, he'd missed the excitement when Tezuka-buchou told everyone he was going back to Germany. Momo-sempai had enough stories to go for a week without repeating... A lot of shit had gone down, then and later. Probably, the captain hadn't heard about later, but some earlier events he'd just been keeping to himself for three years.  
     Echizen breathed and decided to start in, since there was no way the topic would come up. "Before you left..." he said, between drinks of tea. "Fuji-sempai kissed you." The muscles in Tezuka-buchou's left thumb spasmed, and his eyebrow twitched. _Yup_, Echizen thought. _Guess so._ Even if he had doubted it, seeing the captain freak out and spit tea (nearly) was all he needed for proof.  
     "Where did you hear that?" the captain asked, calming himself enough to take a glass of water. Maybe 'freak' wasn't right to say, seeing as Tezuka-buchou managed to restrain himself already, and you could barely hear the tension in his voice; but it was close enough. He could see a certain stiffness in the captain's back and a pinch in his expression. Of course, the topic was three years out of date. That would have caught anyone off guard.  
     As for where he'd heard it, even if it was second-hand and a couple years after the fact... he knew not to rat out Momo-sempai. Kikumaru-sempai and Fuji-sempai had been talking in the locker room during the end of their third year, and Momo had heard something while walking by. Sempai didn't understand all of it, but he still figured he'd make the third-years' hit list for overhearing it. If Momo-sempai knew to run away before they found him, no way Echizen would spill now. "Tsch. Around," he answered instead. Tezuka-buchou gripped his teacup firmly and took a deliberately calm sip, not making any statement. _I may be dead, too, but whatever._ "You kiss him back?"  
     The silence across the table sounded like a '_Yes_'.  
     Echizen sighed and tried to start up conversation again. "You want to tell me what happened?" As reliable as Momo-sempai certainly was, it couldn't hurt. Getting the captain to talk might even help, not that he figured he could. He wasn't Ooishi-sempai, and it wasn't his job to fix things, but he'd come all this way.  
     "We played a match," Tezuka said simply. "Things got... confused. We were both confused."  
     _And that's a 'No'..._ Echizen thought. He hadn't figured the captain would be interested in discussion. He couldn't get out of this talk fast enough, either. "I've played some pretty hot matches," Echizen said. "Against you, against Fuji-sempai... against a lot of people. _I_ never wanted to kiss you."  
     "Do you have a point?" the captain asked, returning to serious consideration of the porkchops on his plate, separating all the large pieces into bite-size parts with his knife, slowly and cleanly. Tezuka-buchou made small, even movements, severing each piece decisively. _If they had a thing, it's over... but it's been over for awhile._  
     Echizen swallowed a forkful of rice. "Yeah. I'm wondering why Fuji-sempai was making out with some guy from Hyoutei in our locker room last week," he said, possibly with more bluntness than was necessary. The boyfriend was old news, more than a year old by now; he still hadn't particularly wanted to walk in on them busy with their clothes half-off. The guy didn't usually come to practice, and the upperclassmen didn't overshare, but he'd definitely been around since before Echizen had gone back to Japan; whenever Atobe saw Fuji-sempai at Hyoutei with what's-his-face, he'd keep growling until Echizen told him to shut up or he was going home. The captain didn't seem to like the idea any better. He didn't freeze, but he slowed down, and he was leaving the porkchops alone. When Echizen looked back across the table, he wasn't sure if the color Tezuka-buchou's face had turned counted as green or just as pale. It was clear enough that Tezuka-buchou hadn't known.  
     _So no one told him after all..._ Echizen had hoped he'd been wrong about that, even though Atobe, for one, had told him flat out that he wasn't going to because he couldn't see that look... The look Echizen figured was seeing now. He had no clue whether the captain was more sad, or pissed, or what. He wasn't happy; that was certain. Atobe wasn't the person he needed to hear it from anyway. Neither was Echizen, but the right people weren't talking. Echizen was willing to give himself three guesses why the captain never called home, and he was pretty sure they were all right. As for everyone else... Fuji-sempai wouldn't have, Kikumaru-sempai wouldn't have, Ooishi-sempai was stuck between his conscience and his doubles partner, and no one else would dare.  
     Tezuka-buchou had spent long enough not knowing and not dealing. He might as well have the option.  
     The poker face had cracked just a little, a quick twitch on one side of the captain's mouth. Tezuka-buchou exhaled, still clearly keeping calm by force of will. "Hyoutei..." The statement cut off in the middle, which probably meant the captain was trying not to run through a list of likely candidates in his head. Like that would do any good.  
     "He wasn't someone on the tennis team."  
     Tezuka-buchou met Echizen's eyes, snapping out of his trance. "Who _was_ it?" he asked in a half-incredulous tone that implied that the captain had spoken before consulting his self-control. Whether he meant to ask or not, Tezuka-buchou's expression was fixed on Echizen.  
     "_Not on the tennis team_," he replied, drinking his tea. He didn't know every guy at Hyoutei, and if Atobe knew his name, he'd never said it. "You could ask Fuji-sempai..." Echizen said, putting down his cup and looking at the captain pointedly. The captain glared back. "If you were still talking."  
     They sat in uncomfortable silence for a moment, eye to eye. "Is that all?" Tezuka asked, and returned to his dinner.  
     "Yeah," Echizen decided, grabbing the meal ticket and his hat as he stood to leave. He could cover the food even if he couldn't do anything else. "That's it."

~//~

     The clock said 1:43 AM. Like the last few nights this week, Tezuka was awake and not tired in the least. Well... not sleepy, anyway. Somewhat yesterday and more this past day, he'd been starting to get quite tired. On the occasional night in his childhood when he'd had trouble finding sleep, his mother would have brought him a glass of milk and told him he was thinking too much, and he shouldn't try to grow up so fast. It was strange to remember that now. He looked up at the ceiling, sometimes at the clock, and even though it felt like those nights, he couldn't hold on to a thought long enough to even say what it was. He had more a surplus of time than of thinking. What was there to think, anyway?  
     So Fuji had found someone else. He'd known that was a possibility when he stepped onto the plane. A probability, really. Even if there hadn't been someone else, he couldn't expect any part of his life at home to be the way he'd left it, especially not that part. That had been the only promise left between him and Fuji: that nothing would be the same again. This boy in the locker room was only a part of that. Up until this point, he simply hadn't known the details. Still... the concept of Fuji with another man bothered him more than he could justify.  
     _Concept_ he called it, not _thought_, because he couldn't quite form the image in his mind. The idea seemed just as hypothetical as the thousand what-ifs he'd dismissed over the last three years. Even with a first-hand report of the fact, he couldn't imagine it. Therefore, he couldn't say what he thought _about_ it.  
     Trying to imagine it was not going to help him sleep.  
     Getting out of bed with a sigh, Tezuka rubbed his temples and put on his glasses, feeling again the distant passage of years as they rushed by his head. A walk might do better to put the concept out of mind, or at least ease his developing headache. Putting on a robe and some slippers, he went out into the hall to find the water cooler. It wasn't warm milk or tea, but it was something. In all the times he'd missed Japan, Tezuka considered, this was the first time he'd particularly missed vending machines with warm drinks. Sighing, he pulled one of the paper cups from the dispenser at the side, watched it fill up with clear water, and took it all in one long swallow.  
     _It's not like I could have expected anything different. Fuji made his thoughts clear enough. If my image of him didn't include... someone else, then it's because my image of Fuji is three years out of date. This isn't unexpected._  
     Which didn't make the possibility seem any more real. The combination of that unreality and the late hour gave everything around him a surreal feeling, even the water cooler sitting out of focus in his line of sight. Air bubbles floated up through the water in the plastic canister, gurgling to the top with a splash that settled into vaguely hypnotic ripples. The coolness on his throat was already passing, but instead of taking another cup Tezuka watched the waves and splashes slowly grow calmer. Echizen's words had been definite enough, and he had no right to be upset.  
     Fuji was Fuji.  
     A person who would wait all through high school and who knew how much longer, sad and sighing, for someone who he didn't expect to ever return... that wasn't the Fuji he remembered any more than the person Echizen saw in the locker room with some anonymous boy from Hyoutei. His Fuji had been resilient, a little vindictive, strong, sensual... extremely loyal in his own way. His Fuji...  
     _My Fuji... I can't even say that, can I? He wasn't my Fuji for more than five seconds before I came here. He could have only been my Fuji if I'd found a way to stay._  
     His mother might have told him he was too young to think things were this dire. He almost laughed remembering her face and imagining what she'd say, seeing her son gloom over finding out that the boy he'd... felt for... in middle school had found someone else.  
     Tezuka left the water cooler at last, wandering slowly back down the hallway. He was face to face with the phone around the corner before he realized he'd gone the wrong way. The receiver found its way to his one hand, the other still holding his paper cup. Like Echizen had said, he could call Fuji and find out... something. That it was all true, he supposed. Find out who the boy was, his name, his hobbies. All the details Fuji would be happy to tell him, if Fuji didn't hang up the phone immediately. Tezuka wasn't sure, but it seemed almost reassuring that this person didn't play tennis. He couldn't say why. Putting the cup down on top of the phone, he pressed the buttons to get an outside line, waited for the dial tone, then punched the numbers to connect to Japan with slow precision, the tones echoing against his ear. Calling Fuji... especially to ask about something like that... He wasn't yet sleep deprived enough to think that would end any way but painfully for both of them. Fuji hanging up immediately might be for the best.  
     He dialed in Ooishi's number instead, waiting through the long pause for the sound of a ring. The delay was, on average, no more than thirty seconds for an international call using these phones, but his heart was pounding and those few seconds didn't seem to end. He considered hanging up the phone. Maybe he didn't want to know, not for certain. Ooishi would have more details than Echizen, given that Kikumaru and Fuji were close. He'd know more than Tezuka wanted to hear. He'd know enough to make it obvious that this was real. But the line rang just before he decided to hang up after all and go back to his room, the sudden shrillness making him tighten his hand on the receiver. At least the adrenaline had cleared the fog from his mind.  
     A ring and a half, and Ooishi's voice answered. "_Hello?_" There was laughter in the background that Tezuka remembered all too well. This was the closest he'd been to Fuji in three years, he thought with shiver. "_I'm sorry, I can't--_"  
     "Ooishi," Tezuka said, trying to figure out what to say.  
     There was a pause on the other side of the line, then Ooishi's voice started again hesitantly. "_It's... been awhile. Wait a second... what time is it over there?_" Even though Ooishi hadn't said his name, he knew why all the background murmurs on the phone line stopped abruptly.  
     "Two in the morning. Ooishi..." he continued quickly, "I know... I probably shouldn't be asking this, but... is Fuji..." He swallowed hard and kept going, now that he was asking. "Is Fuji seeing someone?"  
     His friend sighed, sounding troubled. "_You're right. You shouldn't be asking that._" Just those words made the situation painfully clear. He had long since forfeited the right to make this call, but he wasn't going to run away now. Ooishi was addressing whoever was around, the sound muffled by a hand on the receiver. "_Excuse me, I have to take this..._" he said, and Tezuka's fist fell on the wall with a dull thud. His mind was racing in circles even faster than before. The next time Ooishi spoke Tezuka presumed he'd left the rest of the people he'd been with... Fuji, Kikumaru. Probably someone else. "_Tezuka. How are you doing? I mean..._"  
     "I'm awake," he replied. "How is everyone there?"  
     "_I'm fine, Eiji's great. Everyone has been getting along pretty well, really._" There was a moment of silence while Tezuka didn't ask the question they both knew he wanted answered. "_Fuji... Fuji's doing well, too... I'm glad to say._" It was clear from Ooishi's tone that Fuji doing well was a recent development, though he couldn't say what defined 'recent' in a three-year span. The thought left him more sick than comforted.  
     "Who is he?"  
     "_Tezuka..._" He could picture his old friend's face almost as clearly as if he were standing back in Japan. Ooishi would look concerned and supportive, but firm. "_I'm sure you can understand... when you couldn't be here, Fuji had to..._" In the pause, he could hear Ooishi accounting for all the emotions Tezuka had never shared. "_...you both have to let go._"  
     Ooishi didn't say any more than that. Anything he could say would be things they both knew Tezuka was aware of when he left. It was over. He'd lost his chance before he'd even realized what that meant, and Fuji had made a space in his life for someone new. Someone Ooishi liked, if he was saying to let go. The eye of the storm that had been raging around Tezuka was closing now, and the torment hit him as it calmed and collapsed. Pushing his glasses slightly, he rubbed at the tired corner of his eye. "I understand that," he said in a tone he forced to be quiet and even. Maybe over the phone lines between the continents, Ooishi wouldn't hear the sadness that was mixed in. "So, tell me. Who is he?"  
     After a brief hesitation, Ooishi spoke, sounding as if he were still deciding whether or not he should explain. "_His name is Aida. Aida Yoshiyuki. He's... a nice guy, really. I don't know if this helps, but he... he treats Fuji well._" He could have intuited that much, had he given any thought to it. Ooishi would never sound so positive about a person who would hurt Fuji... a category that he realized included himself at this point. Still, hearing the words was a strange relief. Tezuka supposed he would rather this person be good for Fuji, rather than the kind of man who would cause him any more pain. "_When we met, he was taking pictures of one of our matches for Hyoutei's newspaper... He goes to Hyoutei, can you imagine?_" Ooishi laughed, trying to be supportive. "_President of their Photography Club._" His friend paused, and a ridiculous image stuck in Tezuka's brain of Fuji in his tennis jersey literally bumping into a neatly-groomed version of himself wearing a Hyoutei uniform and carrying a camera -- a bit shorter than his normal height but still taller than Fuji, with horn-rimmed glasses -- and the two of them were surrounded by roses in bloom. He must be more tired than he'd thought. As he shook the picture out of his head, Ooishi went on. "_He's here right now, actually. Over at the table. Eiji, Fuji, Aida-san, and I... We were having brunch._" Tezuka sniffed wryly, unable to make a real reply. 'On a group date' was what Ooishi meant, two couples going out.  
     _That should have been me_, Tezuka thought before remembering it wasn't his place to take anymore. Even if he went back now, even if he could get rid of this new presence, he couldn't change Fuji's heart back to what it had been three years ago. Closing his eyes, Tezuka ran his hand through his hair. _I made a choice, and now I have to live with it._ He broke the quiet to confirm one last thing.  
     "Fuji's happy?" he asked.  
     There was silence for another long, terrible moment. Then, Ooishi spoke, this time with no uncertainty. "_Fuji's happy,_" he said.  
     Sleepiness began to creep over Tezuka, leaving him at a loss for more conversation. "It was good to talk to you," he replied at last. "I should call again soon."  
     "_Yeah,_" Ooishi answered in a quiet tone. "_Get some sleep, Tezuka._"  
     He hung up the receiver with his eyes still closed, taking his paper cup and crushing it tight, holding it until his hand hurt from the strain. The pitch to the wastebin was hard enough to knock the can over, spilling a few used cups besides his own onto the floor as the wastebin rolled against the wall with a dull, hollow ring. For a moment, he just stood looking at it, contemplating the scattered cups littering the floor; but before he found his way back to the room, he cleaned up the mess and righted the bin, wishing everything could be that easy.


	2. Chapter 2

     She wasn't supposed to be in the men's locker room, technically, but not one of the staff members here was in a position to stop her from doing as she pleased. Besides, this was a favor. After she was good and done with her professional career, Hannah Essenheimer would likely come back to this hospital on a permanent basis, but she was visiting now because old Lukas, the superintendent, had asked specifically for her assistance with one _very_ stubborn head case. They took on too many problems at this place for which no one asked help, if you asked her. That didn't mean the patient didn't need it. She sighed as "the head case" came in from the courts where he'd been training, dripping with sweat as was expected on a muggy afternoon in late May... She'd been watching him wipe the courts with a couple other staff members earlier. Tezuka Kunimitsu's form was better than ever, which was no surprise. The trainers she'd talked to said he'd been working his ass off all the time he'd been here, and twice as much as before starting a year and a half ago - couldn't figure out the reason. None of the doctors knew why either.  
     At the moment, he was just standing in the door, towel thrown over his shoulder with the same old mightier-than-thou expression on his face. "Coach," he said, with some surprise. "I hadn't heard you came back."  
     "Of all the the players in all the world whose butts this hospital might ask me to kick, I'd never have picked you, Kunimitsu. Well," Hannah said as she stood up to meet him, "at least I don't have to be polite about it." He stood about six inches taller than her now, but that wasn't going to stop her glaring. "What the _hell_ are you still doing here?"  
     "Rehabilitation," he replied with an air of boredom, striding over to a locker and pulling out his clothes. He didn't make any motion to change them for his training clothes, but instead packed them into his tennis bag. Whatever he was hiding underneath was nothing she hadn't seen, but it was nice to be reminded that there were gentlemen on the earth.  
     She crossed her arms and stood in front of the door, in case he'd been thinking of leaving once his packing was complete. "I have a message from your doctors. You're cured. There's not a damn thing that staying here any longer will do for that arm of yours." He glanced up at her briefly just before he zipped the bag shut, and made no reply. The look in his eyes was more sad than surprised. "You knew that, didn't you?" she asked quietly.  
     Kunimitsu stared at her in silence. He might have been deciding whether there was some brief, pithy statement he could say to make her go away... There wouldn't be; she'd find a way to get through, if not today then tomorrow. Perhaps he was just trying to see if there was space to walk around her. If he found any, she was prepared to block him. Finally, he must have realized that she could be as stubborn as him, and unlike _some people_ had every right to give lectures on getting on with your life. Well, she could hope, anyway. Kunimitsu set his tennis bag down and took an uneasy seat on the bench. He'd never been the type to sit without something to do that she could recall, but when he was fourteen she would have said he couldn't be uneasy if he'd tried. Kids grew up, she supposed.  
     He'd looked so mature it was sometimes hard to remember that was what he'd been. Even now, he looked for all the world like a grown man who was simply uncomfortable having a woman trainer in the locker room; but the part of her that had still been a lost, scared girl when this particular patient had first come to Germany thought she could see that inside him now was a scared boy, far from home and running from something that troubled him more than a damaged elbow. People were talking nonsense when they supposed he wasn't leaving here to go pro because he was afraid of injuring his arm again when he started facing professional-level opponents. He'd been dealing with that arm for about two years when she'd met him, and it hadn't bothered him a bit... moreover, she had watched him play just now. He didn't play like a man with no trust in his own body.  
     Kunimitsu breathed out slowly, resting his elbows on his knees and sparing a glance for the arm in question. "I knew," he said firmly. Fourteen or nineteen, he always had been perceptive. Of course he could tell if there was or was not a problem with his own arm.  
     "Everyone says you've been training harder than usual." He seemed settled now. Hannah decided to play the odds that he wouldn't bolt and sat down next to him. "Big tournament coming up?" The answer was going to be 'No'... Lukas probably would have mentioned it - at length - if Kunimitsu had registered for any kind of tournament, so she wasn't expecting that to be the case. Hell, if it were, she wouldn't _be_ here, would she? Kunimitsu knew she knew that. And sure enough, he just glared at her. "Fine. You don't want to talk about it. But as long as I'm here, I'm still your trainer, and you _will_ tell me about things that affect your training."  
     He put his towel over his head, drying his hair and neck with no apparent concerns, and dismissed the line of questioning with the same arrogance he'd had years ago. "The harder I work, the better I sleep. That's all."  
     With a laugh, she scoffed. Some things never changed. "Oh, _that's all_, huh? Just running around in circles til you collapse. Well, let me give you a tip, one head case to another." Kunimitsu pulled the towel down onto his shoulders and placed his glasses decisively in a way most people found intimidating, she was sure. He'd never scared her with those hard eyes of his, and she wasn't going to start being scared now. "Running in circles won't get you closer to anything. And it won't make anything go away, either." Whatever had happened to him, that much was still true. If he decided that the two of them had a _far_ more conversational relationship than she deemed probable, maybe she'd have more specific advice for his specific problem, but she remembered him being a smart kid as well as a non-conversational one. As long as she could get him moving, he'd get where he needed to be. Hannah watched Kunimitsu fold up his towel silently in response to her comment and hang it from the strap on his tennis bag. It was pretty much the reply she'd expected. "Tell me when I get to something you haven't figured out already," she prompted.  
     The way he pulled on the towel to even the ends before letting go made her wish that asking what was wrong would get any response. Even a high-handed dismissal would have been preferable to quiet contemplation of an old, damp towel.  
     She decided to take his silence as a sign that he had already come to the conclusion that his problems weren't going to disappear. "It's easy to stay here, isn't it, Kunimitsu?" Hannah asked him. She could well recall the rhythm of the repetitive days coaching patients at the hospital. There wasn't a past to drag out, there wasn't any kind of change that mattered coming in the future. There was just every day, only different from every other day in the details. "As long as I was here, I remember..." she sighed, "I thought my past couldn't get me. I told myself... _There's nothing to be scared of anymore... it's all outside, those feelings can't get to me here_." He'd gone to clean his glasses now, using a corner of his towel, not meeting her eyes. It wasn't blatant. Kunimitsu was still trying to pretend there was nothing wrong, like he'd been pretending at everyone for over four and a half years... she half wondered if this place had a standard length of time to put up with promising but troubled young players before pushing them out the door. She'd gotten about the same. "I can't believe how wrong I was. Every day I stayed here, didn't go back to those courts to see there was nothing to be afraid of... I just got more scared as time went on."  
     "There's nothing I fear about tennis," he said at last, cutting her off as matter-of-fact and calm as you please. He wasn't lying, in her estimation. Kunimitsu was looking her in the eyes now, it was obvious he meant what he said. But then, she hadn't been trying to imply that he _did_ have that particular issue.  
     "There's something keeping you from showing your face," Hannah spat back at him. "So you say it's not tennis... fine. I saw you play, I'll believe you. _What is it, then_?"  
     Oh, _that_ did not make him happy. His eyes narrowed, hard and sharp and telling her unequivocally to back off. "It's personal," he said with a firm tone and stood with his bag. "Excuse me." At the very least she'd succeeded in pissing him off. That was something.  
     Kunimitsu stalked off towards the door with moderate speed. She was getting older and almost didn't beat him there. "_You're not excused_," she informed him, blocking the exit with her hand. He flicked his eyes down to the arm in his path, then back to her her face. He would listen to everything whether he liked it or not. There was simply not enough time in the world to take bullshit from a cocky kid like this one, especially not the same cocky kid who'd been on _her_ case five years ago. The time to repay the favor was long overdue. "I'm here because this hospital decided that coddling you until you get your head straightened out isn't going to work. Now, I don't have a brat I can call to remind you how much you love playing and miss being _out there..._"  
     "That isn't necessary," he said. The reply was forceful, possibly more forceful than Kunimitsu had meant it to be. His hand tightened slightly on his bag's shoulder strap, eyes cast at the doorframe beside her. Catching her breath, Hannah paused for a moment to watch him, and think about what she was seeing. He wasn't afraid, he'd said, he really didn't seem to think that giving up professional tennis was a valid plan. _That_ had been the voice of someone who had not forgotten for an instant that tennis was in his blood. It had an anxious edge, but was closer to anticipation than dread. He knew perfectly well that he wouldn't be content unless he was challenging the limits of the game, but here he was, still waiting for whatever... personal reason he had.  
     And she'd been wrong, she'd admit that. Right now he _wasn't_ pretending there was no problem; she knew him about as well as anyone here, and Kunimitsu didn't say things unintentionally. He just didn't. But it was _personal_, and she was crossing the line. This time she was the one who had to stop, consider the obvious facts, and try to think of something to say. Hannah studied Kunimitsu's face as breathed out slowly, gaze still locked on the doorframe, mouth set in a tight line. Cool regained, he closed his eyes just for a moment, reopened them, and turned to her. "I'm sorry," he said, and made no signs that he intended to continue.  
     "No, I apologize. That was my mistake," she replied quietly, crossing her arms in front of her chest. Maybe old Lukas had picked the wrong person for this job after all, if she couldn't even fathom what could make a man stay when he knew he wanted to be somewhere else. A good trainer should know how to read her trainee's mind from all the little things... right here, right now, she couldn't do it. There wasn't enough to go on, not for her... all she'd managed to do was project her old symptoms.  
     Then, listening to herself think, she dropped a wry chuckle into the heavy silence and smiled briefly at the quizzical expression Kunimitsu showed her. "_Never give up_," she explained. "That's what I always used to say. That's what you reminded me of back then. And here I was, giving up on you." She pushed some of her hair back away from her face, shaking her head. "All because I just can't figure out why... But if you _want_ to be a pro, and you've got your reasons for not doing it, I'd bet you a five-star steak dinner you're sick and tired of people reminding you about it." Kunimitsu shifted his bag on his shoulder, looking at her intently. He was listening again. It was a step in the right direction. "And I never thought I'd say this, but I think you're right... Not to stay here, mind you. You owe yourself better than this... But I don't want to see you out there on the circuit with your head in a mess, Kunimitsu."  
     She walked over to one of the lockers, tracing the edge of the door with her finger slowly as she considered the reasons for that, trying to make some sense for herself out of the idea. '_Don't go pro_' was a sentiment Kunimitsu had probably never heard from a tennis player, and was certainly not one she'd ever felt about a tennis player as good as he was. "There's a lot of people in the pros, Kunimitsu. A lot of people who play tennis every day because it's their job," she said to begin, looking back to where he was still standing by the door to the building. "And it is a job. Even when you love the game and there's nothing you'd rather do, some days it still feels like that. If you step out there when you're heart's not in it all the way, though... then I guess that's all it is. A job, just like the one you're doing here." She shook her head, smiling just a little at the spark of confusion in his eyes. "The last thing _you_ of all people should do is clock in when you're heart's not in it. You owe yourself better than that, too."  
     The look on Kunimitsu's face was priceless, halfway to bewildered in her opinion. Maybe she'd actually managed to surprise him for once. It was also fleeting... gone as fast as she could blink. "Last time we spoke, you said I had no heart." She still didn't know what the hell he was missing... but he did. That much she was sure of; it was clear from the subtle sharp edge on his voice. Maybe best she could offer him was a reminder that he didn't have to be stuck this way.  
     "Either I was wrong or you grew one, and right now it's not in the game. So, answer me something. Let's say you _don't_ go pro. Not yet, not ever... however you like." Hannah sat down on the bench and looked up at him, still standing in the door listening. "What would you do?"  
     He didn't have an answer on the tip of his tongue. Wasn't any wonder... people like him didn't think about Plan B because the idea of not playing didn't make enough sense. His eyes drifted slightly off to the left and focused on nothing, considering it. She knew how difficult a question that could be for someone whose life had been tennis for as long as they could remember. It wasn't a question she'd be able to answer, either. When he turned back, his expression was less bewildered but no more at ease. "I'd play tennis," he said simply, voice perfectly even.  
     _Well_, she thought, smiling at his response, _at least he knows that much_. "Play tennis, then. What the hell..." she said with a shrug. "There's all kinds of tennis you can play without going professional. Get a decent job, go to a club any day you want. Amateur tournaments here, or in Japan if you want. Wherever. You could even go to Beijing if you do well... it'd be cutting it close, but you might make it in time still." Raking her hands through her hair and resting them on the back of her head, she looked at him with a sigh that turned into a laugh. "Who goes pro when the Olympics are coming up, anyway? That's got to be worth trying for, even just the once."  
     She quieted down to let him think, and watched as the possibilities of not tying himself down filtered into that thick head of his. "If I wanted to do that..." Kunimitsu mused just barely loudly enough to hear, "I'd have to go home."  
     After he stopped talking, he seemed lost in more private contemplation. There wasn't a single hint in his tone or his posture to say what was going on inside his brain. "So," she said at last, drawing his attention back to where she was sitting, "is that a good thing or a bad thing?"  
     But he just looked back at her, and never answered. This time, when he went to walk out the door, the look in his eyes told her not to stop him.

~//~

     "Ah, that one's so pretty!" the petite blonde nurse standing over the receptionist's shoulder commented. They were flipping through one of the pile of old magazines collected from the front waiting room. Tezuka checked his watch, wondering when the Superintendent Hoffmann would return from lunch. The receptionist had informed him there was no way he could simply wait in the office, so he'd been listening to the two women exclaim over this magazine's coverage of an art exhibition for twenty minutes -- the ten or twenty or so highlight pieces from a recent showcase of new artists it seemed, from what he had overheard. It was hardly a long wait, and hardly the silliest conversation he'd ever been subjected to hearing, but it was quite long and silly enough.  
     Tezuka sighed, letting the noise fade into the background. The receptionist's office had chairs that were just soft enough to be comfortable without letting you sink, and had backs at just the right height to rest one's head without the neck getting stiff. He closed his eyes, and the same circle of thought started again that had been spinning in his mind every spare moment for what seemed like forever. Since he'd sent in his application for a local tournament near his parents' house, at least the thoughts were less... unpleasant. Thoughts about the outside world, even about the pros...  
     He'd never looked away from that path even once. He had no desire to explain it to all the people who looked at him from across the halls and wondered to themselves why he hadn't moved on. It was a private matter, but he knew there was something he needed to do before he could step out onto the court as a professional without remorse for what he'd done, might do, or might not do... If Tezuka went pro first, his instincts told him, he'd never see on the circuit the one person he needed most to see. Maybe never at all. He had to go home and try again; regardless of the result, that much was necessary.  
     More and more often in the past year he'd been seeing familiar names in the tournament line-ups. The names that were missing, however, were far more numerous. Kawamura had surely begun to work at the restaurant, which he'd known would happen when he left middle school. Momoshiro and Kaidou would have graduated from high school only this spring; it was unsurprising to have heard nothing of them. Inui, he had thought, might have taken on the professional world, but had he done so would undoubtedly have made an appearance in the _Pro Tennis Monthly_ article on the Japanese 'invasion' led by 'Samurai Junior - Echizen Ryoma'. As for Atobe... he had other commitments, which was a shame, but he seemed to have thrown himself into business life with as much fervor as when he played.  
     His old friend had started flying in from time to time again, with stories of boardrooms and lecture halls and tennis courts... less often than before, but with college underway and his family having him manage a department at one of their companies Tezuka wasn't sure where he found the time to sleep, let alone to fly to Germany every five or six months, attend every finals match Echizen played anywhere in the world, and still keep up his own training. Tezuka had decided not to try understanding him years ago. When Atobe stopped in, inevitably, he'd ask when Tezuka was coming back - to visit, at least, if not to settle down. The answer had always been 'someday'. If this application went through as he hoped, he'd probably best call to let Atobe know that 'someday' was going to be sooner than he'd expected. At the very least, it would affect his friend's possible flight plans.  
     One particular name also remained absent, a lack for which Tezuka still couldn't say if he was at fault. It had been just over four and a half years since they'd said goodbye, when Fuji had said he probably wouldn't play professionally... and he hadn't. The world would have known about it. For the most part, Tezuka was sure that the man he remembered wouldn't let anything or anyone get in the way of what he wanted to do, but it left a bad taste in his mouth every time he saw a familiar name on a scoreboard and thought about why _that_ one might be missing.  
     Of those who had appeared, Sengoku had actually been the first, as he made a brief but well-documented showing starting April of the past year - before, apparently, winning an American lottery, marrying a foreign model, and retiring early to the life of a television commentator with a summer home in Brazil. Echizen had reappeared full-time almost six months ago, reclaiming his lapsed titles one at a time, then Kikumaru and Ooishi had begun gaining notice on the world stage. He'd heard rumours from visitors recently that they were going to be in the Wimbledon preliminaries despite how recently they'd debuted. Sanada and Tachibana hadn't been far behind, of course. Hearing about his old friends playing and watching them when the local sports news covered their matches had made him want to be out there just that much more, playing alongside... and it had brought the knowledge that he'd made a mistake that much closer. How to correct it, how to even begin... knowing that failure was not an option made him cautious to move into the unfamiliar space between here and his goal. After the years that had passed, he knew exactly how much there was to lose if he took one more wrong step.  
     The idea of going home...  
     He had never been able to construct a plan more detailed than showing up and making an apology. There had been no means to account for complications that would necessarily arise, no assurances that his apologies would matter... They'd been apart now longer than they'd ever been together. The person waiting in Japan would have a life he wasn't part of, circumstances he wasn't aware of... would be a person that, technically, he no longer _knew_... Any plan had been quickly overruled by his judgment, given that. He'd thrown away his first chance with a careless mistake, and if he meant to make a second chance then he would need to understand the man Fuji had become. It was a given that it wouldn't be easy, and more than likely that showing up so late would get a cold response. From time to time, his judgment would inform him that if Fuji had moved on and found happiness, perhaps the best thing he could do was let go. They might not even share that same connection anymore... but there was a voice inside his head, speaking without logic or reasons, that could never accept deciding to give up now. Never trying would be worse than failure.  
     Finally, at this moment, he had _one thing_ \- not even a plan, but enough: one starting point that every part of his mind could support. His judgment found the idea reasonable. His will to play agreed fully with his former coach: the chance to compete in the Olympics, in a world-class tennis match, was all he could ask as a player. And the part of him that dreamt of a second chance, by whatever means, was more nervous than he could remember being in his life.  
     Coach Hannah had been right about the chances of competing to join the ranks of Olympic hopefuls being present, but very slim. There was barely more than a year before the games. Registration was open for the local level tournaments that would sort and prove athletes worthy to move on to higher levels, but even those had a number of places reserved for competitors who had winning records in previous competitions.  
     He had no such record.  
     He hadn't been there.  
     The remainder of the competition slots could be earned in a qualifying round, which would be where he would enter - if he was selected.  
     '_This tournament cannot promise you a place due to the large number of applicants this year_,' the letter he'd received had read. '_Our schedule will be arranged to admit as many qualified players as we may, but the time restrictions of the event will not allow us to accept all applications and precedence must be given to competitors who have played excellently in prior tournaments. For the remaining places, your qualifications will be judged against the pool of potential registrants. We thank you for your interest in our event, and hope to be able to confirm your registration_.'  
     There was no way he was planning to give up, not when there was even a chance. He _would_ take a place in this competition. This was the first time in years that he'd known what he wanted and how to go after it... If there was anything the superintendent could do, any favor Tezuka could perform to get that help, he would do it. He'd made a decision, and a simple question of qualifications wasn't going to get in the way.  
     And even if it did, he had his tickets already. Coach Hannah's speech had had what he assumed was the desired effect. She'd meant to give him a push to break him out of whatever pattern was holding him still, and now that he'd started moving, the idea of stopping again was intolerable. He was going home. Good judgment could wait until he'd arrived.  
     "Oh, really, don't bother him about that!" the receptionist's voice broke into his thoughts. "Can't you see he's thinking about something..."  
     "Oh, but it's just a quick question... Kunimitsu!" the blonde nurse who had been hovering around the desk called out, bringing him the magazine and taking a seat at his side. He practically had to move from his chair to keep a reasonable distance between them. "This artist... that's a Japanese name, right?"  
     Adjusting his glasses, he pulled the opened article into a position where he could actually look at it. The title at the top declared that they were selections from a show at he most recent congress of the International Federation of the Photographic Arts. The columnist who had covered the event had chosen several of his favorites to highlight in a follow-up section, the section he was being asked to review now. The nurse's question wasn't even worth the time it would take to dismiss it, so he followed her finger down to the selection.  
     Before he had a chance to examine it, she spoke again. "It's just such a _lovely_ picture, don't you think so?" He couldn't answer, since he hadn't had a chance to look at it, but neither did she give him time to speak before she continued. "And I looked at his name and thought, he's probably Japanese... but you'd know for sure, right?" Her smile was intensely bright. After nodding that he would, in fact, know a Japanese name on sight, he returned to the article in order to look at the section she'd referenced. His German was excellent, but it still wasn't his native language. The receptionist had meanwhile returned to her post, shaking her head. "Do you like photography?" the nurse asked him.  
     This time he didn't bother looking back up. "I like some photographs," he replied, not committing particular attachment to the medium itself. She'd just lifted her finger from the title of the section, _Hsi-yu Chi_... if that was the title of the image, the reading here was Chinese, but that didn't mean much. It meant _The Journey to the West_: the reference was old and had been common for centuries. The pronunciation might be intentional, or it might be the columnist's error. Looking down for the artist's name, he saw the picture itself and paused. It was in a soft focus, but just clear enough to be definite upon examination. A young man, face visible in profile with his back mostly turned to the camera as he looked at the sun on the horizon. If this was west, then a sunset... the sunset viewed across Tokyo Bay. He could practically say the exact spot. With the gentle blurring of the image, his features were indistinct enough that had Tezuka not been so familiar with him, he might have doubted who the man was.  
     Whatever description or analysis the columnist could offer for the image would no doubt be insufficient. To say a photograph was 'breathtaking' might generally be considered hyperbole, but in this case was undoubtedly and literally true. Tezuka, however, was not in a position to say whether it was the picture's independent merits or the fact that Fuji was suddenly standing in front of him again, lost in contemplation of the setting sun. There was no smile on his face, and his eyes seemed to be gazing far off, not at the sun but past it, with an unguarded expression the likes of which he'd rarely seen. Something in the stillness captured in that moment made Tezuka think that if he just called out, Fuji might hear him and turn back around to smile and to answer.  
     He traced the line of the photographed arm down to the hand on the rail with his thumb, feeling a strong distaste for the idea of checking the photographer's name. But of course it was in the picture's caption, as clear as could be. _Above, the picture of a young man overlooking the water in Chiba. Photographer, Yoshiyuki Aida._  
     Tezuka couldn't recall having hated someone at any earlier point in his life. It had never seemed necessary before.  
     "Kunimitsu?" the nurse at his side asked, the sound pulling his eyes away from the picture's caption. "Is something wrong?" she said with a pout.  
     "No," he said, handing her back the magazine. He had no intention of beginning a discussion of what was wrong. "Nothing. You were correct, he's Japanese."  
     Instead of leaving, she just tucked some hair behind her ear and continued speaking. "But it looked like there was something..." One thing that too few people on staff understood was how to tell that a conversation was over, this girl included.  
     "The man in the picture is... an old friend of mine. It's nothing for you to be concerned about."  
     "Oh!" she cried, putting the magazine back in his hands. "You should keep this, then, if he's a friend of yours. It's the waiting room copy, anyone can take them."  
     "_That's unnecessary_," he tried to tell her, but she refused politely to let him put the magazine in her hands, and out of his possession.  
     "No, really, you should have it. I have one at home, it's no bother." He would have liked to drop the magazine on one of the seats, walk out, and practice drive volleys against the backboard for a few hours, but it would have been rude. Moreover, he had to see the superintendent. He was going back to Japan, and that was decided.  
     That had been his intention, but still not something he'd processed so vividly. He was going back to Japan. Where this image had been taken. The photographer, as often as Tezuka had denied his existence, was probably around as well. Fuji may have fallen in love with this person, whoever he was... When that scene was more than just a picture, he'd have to be prepared to accept whatever choice _that_ man considered best - the man gazing across Tokyo Bay with an expression so candid, exposed to someone's camera. He would have to accept that choice, even if the idea... _bothered_ Tezuka. Greatly.  
     Closing the magazine, he breathed and tried to let this feeling pass. When they saw each other again, if Fuji said, _This is what I want_... For the sake of seeing him happy, Tezuka would have to restrain himself, somehow. That was a simple truth. So he put the magazine on the chair next to him and thanked her for the consideration.  
     The receptionist coming back over and tapping her on the shoulder took the girl's attention at last. "The superintendent will be back from lunch any minute. _You_ need to get back to work. And _you_," she said turning to Tezuka, "will be able to see him as soon as he does. I'm sorry for the bother." The nurse and the receptionist walked off toward the desk together, speaking in whispers and not particularly seeming to work. All he overheard was the receptionist commenting, raising her voice in frustration, "Just give it up, Maria. _He's not interested_."  
     To Tezuka's great relief, the superintendent finally returned and the whispered conversation came to an abrupt end. He stood to greet the hospital director, who was waving for Tezuka to follow him into his office. "Superintendent Hoffmann. It's good to see you."  
     "Tezuka-san," he returned with a smile. Lukas Hoffmann, as the director, made it a point to address international staff and patients alike according to their home country's mode of address. The sentiment was appreciated, and his pronunciation wasn't bad. The superintendent took a chair off to the side of his office, away from the desk, and motioned for Tezuka to sit as well. "I've been hearing the most interesting things lately."  
     Closing the door, Tezuka sat in a facing chair and looked Dr. Hoffmann in the eye. "Such as?"  
     "I got an email from a colleague of mine the other day," he said, smiling through a greying beard that, like the rest of his hair, was blond within the last decade or so. "He said he'd received a tournament registration request from someone at my hospital... You're trying for the Olympics, Tezuka-san, aren't you? That's wonderful." The superintendent poured himself a glass of water from the pitcher on the table, then one for Tezuka. "Now, don't think I'm happy to lose you, but I have wondered at times if I've been doing the world a disservice by keeping you here. This is an excellent decision."  
     Tezuka nodded, confirming that he'd sent the request, but with a slightly more grim expression than the hospital director's. "Thank you. I think that I'll be moving on soon under any circumstances, but this would be my preference. There will, however, be precedence given to participants in tournaments..."  
     "That you missed," Dr. Hoffmann finished the statement for him. "My colleague mentioned that as well. But his focus was the fact that you had never officially been released from this hospital. He wanted to correspond with me about your current physical condition, as well as your play level -- which I had to refer to your coaches, of course." He took a drink of water, looking up toward the ceiling for a moment as he recounted. "Would you keep up with the other competitors after being in rehabilitation for so long, are you medically cleared to compete... that sort of thing. I must say," the director said with a conspiratorial grin, "he didn't sound very concerned about a lack of prior qualification due to a... technicality, let's call it... keeping you from participating in the tournament."  
     Tezuka raised an eyebrow at the implication. It sounded like he'd been unofficially cleared, or at least that Dr. Hoffmann thought he'd been, and he had no doubt that coaches here would report well on his current play level; but certainty was required. "I _had_ come to ask for your support in gaining an entry position."  
     Dr. Hoffmann laughed at the remark. "I hardly think it's necessary. It sounds like the tournament board is looking for an _excuse_ to put you in, not a _reason_. People do remember you, you know. No one likes keeping a truly good player out on a _technicality_." Putting down his glass, he leaned slightly forward from the back of his chair, looking Tezuka directly in the eye once more. "I sent him all the medical and training reports he could want. And you are, as of today, officially released from our care."  
     Breathing slowly as the tension over gaining the superintendent's help gave way to the nervousness in his gut over facing Fuji again, Tezuka stood and extended a hand to the hospital director. "Superintendent Hoffmann. Thank you for everything."  
     He shook hands firmly, then clapped Tezuka on the shoulder. "It's been good having you here, Tezuka-san. Give 'em hell."

~//~

     There was a quick knock on Tezuka's door, interrupting the process of packing up the things he'd be shipping home before the flight. "Kunimitsu. You've got a phone call." It was one of the newer people on staff, new enough to be stuck on phone rotation. He put the shirt he'd been folding in the box and checked his watch. Not quite ten in the morning on a Friday. He couldn't remember the last time someone had called the hospital this early on a Friday.  
     "Thank you. I'll be right there."  
     He left his room, headed around the corner toward the reception desk. The orderly made conversation, and Tezuka nodded at appropriate intervals, the anxious knot in the pit of his stomach having gotten tighter as the day got closer. It was more difficult to pay close attention to small talk than before, and he had never particularly cared for it in the first place. They reached the desk, and the orderly leaned over, pushed a button to pick up the line, and handed him the receiver. "And hey... good luck over there."  
     "Thank you," Tezuka replied, nodding as the young man walked to his seat. Turning away, he faced a nearby corner and brought up the receiver. "_Hier spricht Tezuka_..." he said, and waited through silence for a voice on the crackling line. "Hello?" he asked at last.  
     The half-chuckle on the other end of the line made his heart pound out of his chest and then stop beating entirely. At least that was how it felt.  
     "_Tezuka. God, it's been forever_..."


	3. Chapter 3

     "_Tezuka. God, it's been forever..._"  
     It took a moment to remember to breathe in again, and - until Tezuka did - his reply kept sticking in his throat. At last, he managed to fill his lungs, and answer the crackling echo from half a world away. "Fuji," he said, feeling a tremor in his speech even though he tried to keep calm. Processing the simple fact that he was hearing that voice again, talking to him at all no matter the distance, had superceded any other thoughts. This was, at least, beyond the description 'unexpected' that he would have applied to getting a call from home - from anyone.  
     After a moment, his vision focused on the orderly sitting at the desk whose eyes were locked on Tezuka's hand. He could see with a glance that he was gripping the short divider wall at the back of the desk with more force than he'd realized. All of his knuckles and the tips of his fingers had turned white, and when he slowly let go Tezuka could see a faint pattern of fingermarks in the pressed-cardboard backing. His eyes met the orderly's for a fraction of a second before the young man turned to his computer to find something to do.  
     Tezuka shifted the receiver in his hand, turning his back to the desk and leaning against the divider, wondering if he should wait for another word - some kind of confirmation - before speaking again. He shook the hand that had been gripping the divider wall lightly twice and tried to think of something to say. The silence was more keenly painful now, when suddenly he'd heard that voice again, than it had been for years. "This is a surprise," he said at last. With luck, the way his insides were turned upside down would not be clear from his tone. "A good surprise," Tezuka added quietly. As unexpected as this was, as unprepared as he might be, his attempt to mend the rift he'd put between them had to start now. As far behind as he was, there couldn't be any more waiting.  
     Fuji let out a comfortable sigh, speaking again at last. "_That's two, then. I couldn't believe it when I saw your name on the tournament roster._" His mind was starting to spin back up to speed, but he didn't know where to begin with asking questions or processing facts. The picture he had in his mind was still that of Fuji in middle school, on his parents' phone, maybe sitting on his bed carelessly writing an answer to a homework question in perfectly straight lines. He couldn't picture where Fuji might be sitting, what he might be wearing, how his hair was cut. It was like being on the line with a stranger, Tezuka thought... but with an urgent sense that he should know more than he did. "_It's too bad we're not both in the preliminaries. I do want to play you again..._" That laugh was familiar and strange, sweet and painful, all at once. There was a subtle deepness to his voice that hadn't been present the last time they'd spoken... the memory was vivid, and he couldn't help but compare them. But... both he and Fuji had gotten older. It was natural, Tezuka supposed. The melody in the sound hadn't lessened at all. "_Well, we'll meet after you qualify I suppose. I'm sure you will._"  
     He paused, thoughts veering suddenly off of the unexpectedness of hearing Fuji's voice again and on to something that he would have expected less, had he been asked to rank events based on possibility. But there it was, one more _fact_ hanging in the silent space of the telephone line. "You're playing," was all Tezuka could think or say. Even if he could have summoned another thought, it would have been superfluous. A small shiver shot down his back as he said the words.  
     The pause in Fuji's pattern of speech was familiar, the sound of a young man looking for a simple answer to a hard question. Somehow, he knew, Fuji could tell he was asking about more than this one tournament. There had been this idea in school that he himself hadn't been able to shake until so recently, that not going pro meant stopping completely. But back then, one of the things that had tied them together was a shared sense that _stopping_ was impossible. They had always found each other in that place beyond mere skill and practice, the place you could only reach through love of the game. From right there, right now, he could almost hear Fuji's words before he said them, could imagine him speaking somewhere in Japan, his back to Tezuka's eyes - hiding an expression he couldn't bury under a smile. "_I couldn't... not play_," he said. The half-embarrassed, half-reproachful tone of his voice carried the message, '_You shouldn't need to ask that..._' Tezuka's grip on the phone tightened again as he tried to quell the impossible urge to reach out for Fuji's hand. It was so easy here, where he didn't have to look in Fuji's eyes and see all the years that had passed, to think that perhaps it might be that simple.  
     There was something in the silence on the line that seemed to speak for both of them, or maybe in the memory of hearing Fuji's voice echoing across the oceans and continents, something wrapped up in the feeling that after all these years they were still connected somehow. It made those brief words sound more like '_I still love you_' than perhaps they should have. Maybe, if Fuji were trapped in the same moment that he was, then somewhere in Japan he could hear Tezuka's answer in the silence, too. But that wasn't an assumption he could afford. He breathed deeply and swallowed, summoning all his resolve at once. "Fuji..." he said, and paused, trying to decide how to say what he wanted to say. The words were so hard to form.  
     After a brief moment, no more than a tick of the clock, Fuji cut him off, sounding distracted. "_My, is it nearly half-past already? I'm sorry, Tezuka, I'm meeting someone for dinner... but I'll see you._"  
     He swallowed down whatever words he might have thought of in time. Fuji had to go... _meet someone_. His moment had ended. Maybe it hadn't been there to begin with - the interruption had been so easy. "Of course," Tezuka replied. It was better that he wait, really. Trying to speak now would have been rushing in unprepared. That was the whole reason for going home first. It still felt somehow... wrong. "I'll see you at the tournament."  
     "_Mmn... well... bye, then_," were the last words he heard, suspended in his mind with the receiver still pressed against his ear even as an impossibly loud click cut the line and the dialtone began.

~//~

     He had to consciously flex his hand to let go of the phone once he'd returned it to the base. Fuji's arm shook a little, and his fingers were stiff and aching from the grip he'd had on the handset. The rest of him was surprisingly calm... but he knew it was the calm of having reached the other side of blinding panic and not yet having retreated.  
     Damn Inui, anyway. Damn Inui _and_ his text messages. It wasn't as if he wouldn't have _noticed_. This wasn't the sort of thing that had to be pointed out especially. Though he supposed, looking at his cell phone and the string of numbers that had been the entirety of Inui's _first_ text, his old teammate might have been assuming he'd just read the listings and had noticed the name - the _last_ name he'd ever expected to see again, but one that he couldn't well overlook. It wasn't until he'd replied to ask what the numbers meant that he'd gotten the cryptic response, '_Check page five_'.  
     Fuji would never forget addressing his cell phone with the question, "Page five of _what_?" as he pulled his mail out of the box and moved his thumb back to the 'Reply' button to send the same question back to Inui. That was when he'd seen the tournament listings packet among the mail, staring at him like an answer, right on cue, and Fuji thought, '_It can't be_'... but if anyone he knew could have predicted what would be in his mail and when he'd be checking it, that person would be Inui.  
     So he'd opened it right to page five, a page he admitted upon reflection that he probably would have skipped if he'd been browsing... it was the play schedule for the preliminaries, which shouldn't have concerned him. But the words '_It can't be_' had kept ringing in his head, only getting louder when he'd seen Tezuka's name on the page.  
     Half of Fuji had wanted to find Inui and kick him for thinking he should care about a thing like that.  
     The other half wanted to kick himself for caring. So Tezuka was going to be in Japan again. He was registered for a tournament, that was all. It was even the same tournament where he'd be playing, but Tezuka hadn't known that. Even if he had, it didn't mean anything, _and it didn't need to_. But when he'd read it at first, he hadn't thought through the implications half that far... he'd done nothing but call up the first text message again by reflex, the one of just numbers, to look at them and see if it really was what it simply couldn't be.  
     In the end, he hadn't been able to do anything but dial the numbers, just to check, half hoping for an error message from the phone system. Logic hadn't helped him, but intuition was saying to try calling. His curiosity was too overwhelming to stop. The same curiosity pulled him through the sound of someone answering the phone - the sound of a voice speaking in German with words he should have understood but could hardly process as _being German_ \- the shock left him a bit at a loss to parse the foreign words. Still, he knew in his gut it would have been too much of a coincidence for the numbers to be a phone number that connected to Germany, but not to _there_.  
     So when the voice answering the phone had stopped, he'd just closed his eyes and said, "Tezuka Kunimitsu," then taken a deep breath when the voice said something that sounded... positive, and the tinny sound of strange folk music started playing through the phone. That was when his one, solitary thought had changed from, '_It can't be..._', over and over again to '_All this time... it couldn't have been that easy_'. He only thought that once, and then his thoughts went still. When the hold music broke and he faced a silence that seemed to take too long while a phone was changing hands, Fuji was quite aware that this was anything but _easy_.  
     Ironically, it wasn't the sound of Tezuka's voice but the fact that he, too, was speaking German that pushed Fuji past the stage of panic. It had been so jarring, thinking that the voice sounded right but that he shouldn't have been answering in a foreign language. Then, in the calm of that strange _beyond_, he translated the words - just as he heard what was _certainly_ Tezuka's voice calling out again. "_Tezuka speaking_," he'd said, and it couldn't have been someone else - and of course it was in German. What else would he have been speaking? Feeling half insane, like nothing and everything was making sense at once, he'd started laughing. There was nothing he could have imagined that would have been funnier at that moment than Tezuka speaking to him again after all this time, and speaking _in German_.  
     Maybe it was the impossibility of the whole conversation that made it so lighthearted at first. There was a contradiction so inherent in the idea of he and Tezuka speaking again after all that had happened... Fuji couldn't even say where the contradiction lay. It was more basic to the essence of reality than that, like a law of nature. He'd long since written that voice out of his world, soon after what he called their _second goodbye_ in his own head. He never called it that to anyone else. Like all of them, for the month or so afterwards he'd just called it _That Phone Call_, and then they'd all moved past it. There wasn't anything else to say... The memory of the day itself was burned into his mind, of course. The way Eiji had offered to kill Echizen for him, the way Ooishi had come back to the table with the most obviously fake of his smiles and said Tezuka was _glad he was happy_, almost as an afterthought, the way Yoshi-san had squeezed his hand to break him out of the trance that had taken him when Ooishi spoke. The calm he'd felt then was oddly similar to the calm he felt now, but different somehow. Back then, the phone call to Ooishi had been so... conclusive. It had been the end, the end that he hadn't known hadn't been there all along. It had made him angrier than he'd known how to deal with, for some reason that he couldn't quite bear to name.  
     Yoshi-san was the one who'd said it, after all the bitter silence from Fuji while he'd tried to calm down that mess broiling inside. A simple answer to a simple question that Fuji hadn't been asking anybody in particular.  
     _If I couldn't be with you, I'd want you to be happy._  
     The simple translation: "He still cares about you," the last thing he'd wanted to hear anyone say, let alone the Hyoutei boy who'd laid seige to his affections their junior year with such an odd - and oddly charming - blindness.  
     _He cared, maybe... but not enough to come back_, Fuji had had to append in his mind. _Not even enough to say so._  
     All the time they'd been together, Yoshi-san had seemed not to know anything about Tezuka except for the barest fact of his previous existence, but he clearly hadn't needed to ask any questions that day. He'd just _known_, all along, and he hadn't said anything until then. Remembering now, Fuji imagined that for a person in that situation, it must have hurt nearly as much to say those words as it had hurt to hear them. At the time, he'd exploded so fiercely he couldn't even hold the memory inside, taking out every ounce of his anger on the person who _was_ there and dared to speak that opinion to him, rather than the person who _might_ have dared to be jealous from the other side of the planet after all that silence - and then not even stayed in contact long enough to hear Fuji's opinion on the subject. But somehow, far more than at any point since Tezuka had left, he'd been able to let go after that.  
     No more crying, no more screaming, not even the gentle gnawing inside that he'd learned to ignore over the years. It hadn't even brought the trauma back to life when Yoshi-san left at the end of high school to take the place the gallery at Kyuusyuu Sangyou Dai had offered, and kissed him goodbye... Not even another goodbye kiss, when their first kiss on that boardwalk in Chiba - his first since Tezuka left - had shaken him so terribly... But it hadn't been the same kind of goodbye. Nothing really could be.  
     And now, Tezuka was coming back.  
     Fuji didn't even know how to start knowing how to feel about that. Now that he'd put down the phone, broken the surreal link that had pushed him beyond terror, he was left with a silent calm: not anger, just a strange blankness. He picked up his cell phone, pressing the main button to wake it up again and show the text message clearly, and the right button to open up a reply to Inui.  
     "_Mind your own business_," he typed at first, hovering his thumb over the 'Send' button until the screen turned dark again. Why couldn't that have been the same as every time he got a text message from Inui? Why couldn't it have been one more update on the saccharine romance Yuuta had struck up with some girl in the freshman chemistry class where Inui assisted? Wasn't that the point of having an old friend at the same university as your little brother? Not to open old wounds by text message, that was for certain.  
     He cleared out the text after another moment and started again. "_Your opinion is noted_," he tried this time, but cleared that out, too. There was absolutely no question, if he were going to be perfectly honest, that he would have skipped the page listing the entries in the preliminary tournament and gone straight to find his own first match. Then, someone would have mentioned it off-hand... or worse, he would have found out right before a game when he looked at the final schedule for the first round. It was certain that their paths would have crossed eventually, with or without advance notice. This was better, even with the phone number he hadn't been able to stop himself from dialing. Immeasurably better. Whatever Inui's intentions had been, his message had come at the right moment... so Fuji typed, "_Thanks for the warning_," and clicked 'Send' before he could change his mind again.  
     It would have been entirely out of character for Inui to reply with something as trite or common as "_You're welcome_." When his phone pinged to tell him he'd gotten a new message, the previous thread wasn't mentioned at all.  
     "_It seems Yuuta-kun and Watanabe-kun will be meeting for dinner this evening at seven o'clock_," was all Inui said. It was probably as much an apology as anything, some calculated attempt to make him feel better. It worked slightly, probably as predicted.  
     "_Tell me where? Or will you spy on them for me?_" Fuji messaged back, lying back on the futon in his tiny apartment. It would be too far away to get to Tokyo by seven, of course. He wasn't really going to spy on them, anyway... but focusing on his brother's love life was oddly calming, in the true sense of calm. It helped take his mind off of things he couldn't change.  
     He waited for the next ping, and didn't have to wait very long. "_No need. Morning chemistry lab tomorrow (Sat.), she and her friends will provide all necessary data. You'll have a full report._" Even at Tokyo University, apparently girls were still girls... The idea of Inui listening in on female gossip on a slow Saturday morning to gather data was at once ridiculous and thoroughly believable. With a chuckle, he rolled over on his side and called Yuuta. Maybe today he could torment a confession out of him...  
     "_Aniki, what's up?_" he heard, same as always. Nothing had changed.  
     "Oh, I just thought I hadn't seen you in awhile. Would you like to meet up tonight? Maybe dinner, seven thirty."  
     He had to smile at the uncomfortable silence from his brother. Yuuta still hadn't told any of the family about the girl, this Watanabe Hinoko, even though they'd been going out for over three months. The only news he ever got was from Inui. Yuuta must really like her if he'd been that careful, which just made Fuji want to get her home to meet the family even more. "_Umm. I... uh... can't tonight, Aniki. I'm... meeting someone else._"  
     "Oh, well, I don't mind meeting your friends from college. It'll be fun." He laughed and bit his lip while he imagined Yuuta squirming on the other end. "Unless I'd be _intruding_. Would I be intruding, Yuuta?"  
     "_Like I want you meeting my friends!_" If he remembered that particular tone of Yuuta's voice, his brother had gone all red in the face by now. "_Prolly get scared an' never talk to me again..._" Yuuta muttered. "_Seriously, Aniki. What's up? You never call to just hang out._"  
     "Oh, nothing much," he replied, rolling onto his back again and looking at his fingernails. He kept his voice musing and half-bored, a large part of him hoping that the sooner he started talking about this like it was nothing, the sooner he'd realize that's all it was. _Nothing_. "I just got off the phone with Tezuka."  
     All he got from Yuuta at first was a moment of stunned silence. "_What?_" his brother's voice asked quietly before stopping again.  
     "Hmn. He's coming back. We're both in the same tournament, apparently."  
     "_Dude, Aniki, if you need to talk or something just say so..._" He chuckled, away from the receiver, the mild panic in his brother's voice seeming strangely amusing now that he was so far past his own. He'd talked to Tezuka. That life-shattering, impossible moment had come and gone, and his life hadn't shattered. Nothing had changed. It had just... _happened_. Maybe he really was over it now, that affection that had seemed so dire when he was fourteen... "_You want to meet up, sure... seven thirty... I can be there._"  
     "Oh, please. I'm _fine_, Yuuta. Don't break your date over _that_ sort of thing."  
     "_But... I mean..._" Somewhere in the middle of looking for the right words, he stopped to ask suspiciously, "_Who said it was a date?_"  
     "Oh, so it _is_ a date..." Fuji laughed, listening to his brother groan.  
     "_Don't change the subject!_" There was another uncomfortable pause and Yuuta started again, softly. "_So... then... does that mean you two are..._"  
     Fuji scoffed, cutting off his brother before he could finish his thought. Of all the questions to ask... "Don't be ridiculous."  
     "_Fine, I won't be ridiculous. Who'd wanna know anyway?_" He could hear some mutters under Yuuta's breath about _calling just be to a jerk_, and smiled. "_Look. Call Nee-chan, or something, all right? I'm sure she'd love to hear your crap._"  
     "It's so sweet that you care, Yuuta..." he said, smile growing broader.  
     "_Bye, Aniki_," his brother said at last, the line cutting off a moment later.  
     He was feeling a little better. Probably he should get up and make dinner. It gave him an odd feeling inside, thinking about eating dinner alone. Fuji felt like he should find someone to eat dinner _with_, if not Yuuta then _someone_, if only so it was true that he had to meet someone and not some excuse he'd made up to get off the phone when that deep, resonant tone had found its way into Tezuka's voice saying his name and sent shivers down his spine. It had to just be the stress and surprise getting to his head, and he couldn't let himself fall into that cycle again... That part of his life was over long ago, and _he'd moved on_.  
     He would have wanted to find Eiji, if Eiji hadn't been out on the tour right now. Fuji would have to call him tomorrow or risk the wrath of the slighted best friend - this wasn't the sort of thing you didn't tell your best friend, after all, and Fuji knew Eiji would want to know. But he wasn't up for another exhausting phone call, certainly not overseas. Eiji was slightly more... telepathic than Yuuta. He didn't want someone to see through his jibes right now. He just wanted food. Nee-san fell into the same category as Eiji... she'd gotten ten times as insightful, too, since she'd finished her psych degree.  
     Eventually, he called up Saeki. He was insightful, too, and a good friend and supportive... but he wasn't telepathic. "Sae-san..." he called out cheerfully. "If you don't already have a date tonight, you should take _me_ to dinner."  
     His old friend laughed. "_Any time I'm free, Fuji dearest, I'm yours... you know that. But it is Friday..._" Naturally, Saeki would have a date. His Fridays were always marked off for whatever girl he was seeing. "_What do you say to tomorrow? It's been awhile, after all..._"  
     "Sae-san..." Fuji said, then paused to bite his lip. Maybe calming down hadn't been the best idea. He could think more clearly now, and had a sense starting to grow in his mind that if just hearing that voice could get to him so badly, seeing Tezuka again would probably be worse. Much worse. "Sae-san, I just got off the phone with Tezuka. He's coming back."  
     "_Fuji..._" Saeki sounded like whatever he was about to say had caught in his throat, his urgency making Fuji wonder just how dazed he sounded. "_Hold on. Are you at home?_" After waiting for Fuji to confirm, the line went dead. Saeki would probably be over in under half an hour... It was nice to have friends, he thought with another half-chuckle. So nice, when you didn't know what to think.  
     Fuji sat up, rubbing his eyes slowly just to make sure there weren't any tears.  
     They were dry... there was that, at least...


	4. Chapter 4

     When the front door slid open, the sound echoed softly all the way to the kitchen, and Tezuka Ayana quickly rinsed the grains of rice off her hands and dried them. Her son's voice rang out of the front hall, deepened to a rich baritone during the time he'd been gone... He'd come home with a man's voice, she thought with a strange hint of sadness pulling at her chest. She knew it was him, though this wasn't a change she'd had a chance to hear before... He'd communicated through letters while he'd been overseas, sending one every week, right on schedule. They'd been little more than a log of the matches he'd played, reports from the doctors... he'd mentioned once that the reason he'd kept to writing them so faithfully was in part to practice his penmanship, and that he'd begun keeping a journal for the same reason. But all that time, it had been a vital, weekly link to her son. It had been more than a meaningless chore to him as well, as much as he kept up that stoic face he wore - even when he was too far away to see. A mother could see between the lines and underneath the words, even if the news itself was all routine.  
     A mother knew.  
     When she opened the door to the kitchen, hurrying quietly to find him, her son was seated in the entrance with his back to the house, taking off his shoes, a small suitcase resting by the front door. "Welcome home, Kunimitsu." She'd seen him come home just this way so many times before when he'd been a child, turning his head over his shoulder to say hello and standing to meet her. He'd filled out overseas, gotten a bit taller - had she seen him regularly during the past few years, she imagined that she would have said he'd been looking more like his father every day... Coming home now, after being so long gone, it was a bit like watching a young Kuniharu step out of her memories... but where her husband was, she would admit, awkward at times, Kunimitsu had his grandfather's stern expression, his stoic poise. And with those glasses... that same wild hair that had always defied her comb when he was a boy, there was no mistaking her son. Ayana had to suppress the instinct to run over and hold him, standing still and calm by the doorframe, hands holding tight to the dishcloth she still had in her grip though she'd finished drying them by now. She gave Kunimitsu a small, welcoming smile. As much as she had missed her little boy, this was a man standing before her now, and she would have to treat him as such - no fussing, no coddling. It was good just to see him home. "I hope you had a safe flight," she said at last.  
     "Mother," he answered softly. There was a subtle shift to his mouth that she wouldn't have called a smile if she'd married into any other family, but she was accustomed to the expressions of her husband's father by now. Ayana returned a smile of her own, wondering at how he'd grown - would it ever stop looking strange, she wondered.  
     He stood a head and a half taller than her now, she saw as he approached. He might even have a centimeter on Kuniharu now. "Your grandfather was in his study, but I'm sure he'll be down soon. When your father returns from work, we'll have supper."  
     He stepped in surely, wrapping one arm around her waist and the other around her shoulders. The scent of soap that she'd long tied to her memory of him was dampened by hours of travel by airplane and subway. Still, he was hardly wilted by the journey. As tired as he would have to be - with the long flight and the time change - he didn't betray a bit of it. She would have loved to see him in at Narita - Kuniharu's father had retired now, but he'd kept his health and may have wanted to come as well... Kunimitsu wouldn't hear of it. He never had liked showing that smiling face in public. Kissing her hair once, her son stepped back again, resting a hand on her shoulder, and she let him go gracefully. "It's good to see you, Mother," he said.  
     She smiled silently in response, not quite having the words she needed at hand. Saying '_It's good to have you home_,' just seemed so pale. "All of the things you sent ahead are in your room. You can rest, as well, if you're tired from the trip."  
     "He's fine, Ayana." Kuniharu's father, Kunikazu, had come down the hall. It almost made her laugh to see Kunimitsu straighten his back and face the old man. But then, his grandfather had always been the one he'd looked to as a boy, and his temperament had reflected it for years before he left. "Kunimitsu. Come back at last, have you? I hope Germany treated you well."  
     "Yes, Grandfather," her son replied, proper as always. It was too bad that she couldn't keep him at home a little longer than she expected she could... There was so much time to make up for. But during the tournament, he'd surely be spending some nights in town, and afterwards would start looking for a place of his own. There really wasn't any question of it; he'd been so young when he'd gone out into the world. She couldn't hold him back now, even if she'd wanted to try.  
     At the very least, she could make him a proper meal to welcome him back. Goodness only knew what there was to eat in Europe... She took his hand gently and squeezed, drawing his eyes back for a moment. "You go catch up with your Grandfather, Kunimitsu. I should finish cooking. But I expect to hear all the news over dinner." He turned with a nod, and she watched him walk toward Kunikazu.  
     "Ah, good. Come play some shougi with an old man, then. If you haven't forgotten the rules..." And she stood in the doorway, smiling fondly until the soft echoes of quiet laughter between men disappeared.

 

~//~

 

     Returning the shougi set to the usual shelf in his grandfather's study was at once familiar and strange. He'd done so countless times before, but he'd always been... shorter. The six-mat room and its contents were well-kept, not showing their age at all, but Tezuka's own eyes had changed. It wasn't that being home was uncomfortable; it was pleasant to find himself in the quiet, traditional atmosphere of his parents' house again, but it had been five years since he'd removed his shoes at the door and felt tatami mats under his feet. He'd grown distant. Still, there was something reassuring about the constancy of this room. He noticed that his grandfather had repotted his bonsai juniper and moved it to the other side of the courtyard door, but little else had changed. They'd sat to play shougi at the same low table where he'd learned the rules from his grandfather years ago, kneeling on the same familiar cushions, the same scroll hanging above the old calligraphy desk.  
     _Kaden Rika_...  
     'In the melon field, below the plums,' it read. Tezuka remembered that he must have been four or five when he'd turned to his grandfather and asked what it meant. The old man had just nodded and said, '_That you should take care where you choose to walk_'. Man is only human, the lesson had gone. No matter who you are, every man has his weak points and weak times; he should know them, and should not make a habit of exposing himself to them. Moreover, no one is above answering to the perceptions of others, whatever his circumstances or standing; a man should take care not to blunder into situations that would draw suspicion or censure.  
     _Walk not into temptation. Never invite scandal.  
_     At that age, he'd thought his grandfather could do anything and wanted no more than to grow up to be like him; nothing could have surprised Tezuka more than hearing those words from the same man who'd always told him that being ruled by fear would keep a man from growing strong, and he should constantly strive to be better than he was. When he'd said so, his grandfather had sighed and patted Tezuka's head, looking back up to the scroll. '_You haven't considered it long enough, then_,' he'd said. '_There's a difference between fear and good sense, Kunimitsu, even when in action they look the same. Part of being a man is courage, and part lies in being on guard - seeing foolish risks before you take them. When you have a family that depends on you, you'll see the need for the balance_.'  
     Tezuka had spent a good part of his childhood learning to reconcile the two, and thought himself to have done a reasonable job. He could only hope his grandfather would agree when the time came to discuss his reasons for coming home at last. The grey-haired, bearded man was considering the sunset over the courtyard and the house with sharp eyes unclouded with age. Certainly there was no rush to break into his grandfather's thoughts with half-formed intentions towards a man he hadn't seen in five years... but he had to wonder when passively not telling his family turned into keeping a secret. They would want to know... deserved to know what to expect as soon as Tezuka himself did. The future of the family, he was aware, depended somewhat on what happened between him and Fuji. His grandfather, his father, his mother... his decision concerned them, too.  
     But discussing it immediately after he got off the plane was too sudden. Too much was uncertain to speak hastily. Talking with his family before talking with Fuji could cause a probably volatile situation to explode in his face, if only because his old friend wouldn't appreciate the implicit assumption that Tezuka _could_ win him back, to say nothing of the effect his intentions might have on the calm atmosphere of the household.  
     Tezuka had spent so many quiet hours like this with his grandfather, the free hours between getting home from club practice and when his father, Kuniharu, came home from the office. He'd always prized that time, whether he was learning a judo fall or hearing some old story from Tezuka Kunikazu's days on the police force. Right now, he wanted to stay quiet and keep that peace, at least for his first night home in years.  
     The sun was mostly behind the other side of the house, leaving the courtyard shadowed. The tree at the side had grown visibly taller while he'd been gone, a tree planted a few years before he was born that he'd watched grow up as he did. When his grandfather told him that he'd retired from active duty and would be home more often, they'd been standing underneath it. '_I'll be a policeman, then, Grandfather_,' he'd said, full of seriousness. And his grandfather had looked just as seriously back at him, silently considering.  
     '_Hmm_,' the old man had replied at last. '_You're a bit short, Kunimitsu. I don't think the academy will let you in yet_.' Then he'd knelt down to look his indignant grandson straight in the eye. '_But when you're tall enough, I'd be proud to see you take my place_.' Tezuka had wanted to promise, but his grandfather hadn't let him. '_If you want to, you will, and that's enough promise for any man_.' There'd been another meaning to that refusal, however. Tezuka had seen that a few years later when he'd been sitting under that same tree after winning a junior division tennis tournament, the call he felt when he'd stood on the court still echoing in his mind.  
     His grandfather had walked over, and when Tezuka looked up, he'd realized that part of the reason he hadn't been allowed to promise that day was that Kunikazu didn't want his grandson to get into the habit of making promises he might not keep. So, after a moment of quiet, without any fear, he'd said, '_I think I want to play professionally, Grandfather_.'  
     With a simple, serious nod, the old man had replied, '_We'll need to get a television_.' Tezuka had tried to control his surprise at the non-sequitir, but his grandfather was somewhat better at reading him than he was at maintaining his expression. '_Your mother, Kuniharu, and I will want to cheer you on when you play overseas_.'  
     His grandfather was unusually forgiving at times in the way he ran the family. He didn't tolerate misbehavior, but direct commands had been few, and Tezuka's future wasn't arranged for him the way Atobe's had been. Tezuka knew from his mother's letters how friends of the family had begun directing their own children - training them in a profession, getting them into the right schools, arranging the right marriage. He'd been allowed to walk his own path so far and had never questioned that freedom.  
     Now, for the first time, as he watched his grandfather contemplating the garden and pulling his kimono slightly tighter in the chilling air, Tezuka wondered how far that freedom went. He didn't _doubt_, but he wondered. In aiming for the world stage, he wasn't blind enough to think that, if Fuji would have him, the relationship would be overlooked - or received with universal approval - by the public, or even by his family. He carried the Tezuka name: his mother, father, and grandfather would bear some of whatever pressure he met. _And I would be the last to carry that name_, Tezuka thought with a quiet calm, stepping back from the shelves. He was an only child. If everything went as he still hoped, he could never expect to give his mother and father a grandchild. Even with the best possible outcome, even if they supported his decision, about _that_ at least he couldn't ask them to be _happy_.  
     In his thoughts and intentions, the need to reunite with Fuji... that was inevitable. Nothing could erase the memory of those stagnant years and the lack of something vital. It was a choice he'd made for himself alone without hesitation. _But, I hadn't considered... with the path I follow, any risks I take, I take for everyone in this house_. The decision was no less made, but it was less simple. Tezuka walked over to the open door to the courtyard, noticing his grandfather's eyes narrowed at his face in silent consideration. What to say... and when to say it... were questions to which he'd need a good answer as soon as he'd resolved his position with Fuji, if not before. "It's starting to get cold," he said, his hand resting on the door.  
     His grandfather nodded; Tezuka slid the door shut and retook his seat on the cushion across the table. The old scroll on the wall hung over the man's shoulder, staying in constant view as Kunikazu turned to face him. "So you said you've kept a journal? Private? Or may I see what my grandson has been doing with his days?"  
     Tezuka reached into his pocket and drew out the book. "It's nothing beyond what I wrote in my letters," he said, handing it over.  
     "Even so." He watched his grandfather's timeworn hands lay the book open flat on the table as he scanned the brief, dated entries. This was his most current, the records from the few years prior still packed in his bags. There was no need for constant conversation as his grandfather read. His thoughts were free to consider the probable effects of the choice he'd be making when he walked out of this house and went to find his way back into Fuji's better graces. At the very least, he should have some idea what he was asking of his family when the time did come to tell them, when there was anything to tell... but most importantly he'd need a way to be certain his parents and grandfather would look on Fuji as better than... a _weakness_ to be avoided in order to maintain the family's reputation.  
     Even that he could face, Tezuka decided, as long as Fuji was at his side. He had his own certainty that Fuji was nothing like a weakness. Far from it. The few years they'd been together had made them both stronger - better - in more ways than just tennis. The only regret he'd had was letting that slip away so easily. The grandfather he'd known all his life would understand, somehow, that the risk Tezuka couldn't take was letting another chance go by. And if not... His grandfather's disapproval would be painful, but the pain would be far greater if he had to face further censure for trying to hide his decision. He knew full well his grandfather's opinions on taking actions you felt it necessary to conceal. _Nothing worth doing should be done in the dark... Too hard to see what you're doing yourself. Work in the light, or not at all_.  
     Though the topic of Fuji, Tezuka thought with a sudden jolt as he saw the edges of two familiar pictures waiting just a page turn or two from his grandfather's eyes, was definitely one he wasn't yet prepared to discuss. He felt something like panic as he looked at the clean edge of the old photograph and the feathered paper torn from a magazine article - the text of which he decidedly didn't need. There was no way to say what questions the images would raise. He tried to remain calm, reminding himself that the discussion of Fuji would be difficult or not regardless of timing or preparation. But all he could think as the page turned was, _I'm not ready_...  
     Just at that moment, there was a sound from the front hall - a door closing, and his father's voice calling out. His grandfather looked up, murmuring, "Ah, Kuniharu..." in acknowlegement. Barely thinking, Tezuka reached out and took the pictures from the opened page, still wondering if he should have done so as he put them away in his chest pocket. He was just delaying the inevitable, he knew, but it would be better to understand both Fuji's feelings and his own before making any statements. That had to be the best course.  
     His grandfather went on reading as if nothing had happened, and Tezuka breathed a sigh half of relief and half of discontent. "You skipped a few days here, I see..." the old man remarked.  
     Tezuka recalled, still unsettled, the only few days whose record he'd been loath to commit to paper: the week after Echizen had paid him a visit. He looked his grandfather in the eye and replied only, "My thoughts were unclear."  
     When aged but sharp brown eyes looked up at him then, narrowed into a troubled expression, Tezuka knew that if he were asked '_Why_?' that he would need to give a truthful reply. He couldn't lie to this man, no matter the outcome. But the question remained unspoken when his father came through the door, running a hand back through his hair and smiling broadly.  
     "Kunimitsu," he said sounding energetic despite the long day of work. Tezuka noticed as he stood that his father's hair had begun to grey a bit at the temples. "Welcome home, son."  
     "Father." He swallowed his concerns for the moment. The topic he was unprepared to discuss was put aside for now, though not forever. "I'm glad to see you're well," he said, letting the panic he'd felt settle. Waiting until something had been decided to discuss it with his family was best. He would speak to Fuji first, and he would speak with his family when there was something to say.

 

~//~

 

     Watching the dinner discussion with some discontent, Kunikazu twisted his mouth into a subtle frown. His grandson was a terrible liar. Or perhaps calling him a terrible secret-keeper would be more to the point, since lying would have involved either a denial or a contradiction of the evidence at hand. While he preferred this clumsiness to having the boy be skilled at deception, it would have sat better with him if Kunimitsu didn't think he had to try. As clear as it seemed to an old detective's eyes, still his _son_ hadn't noticed it. Maybe if he hadn't seen the two pictures that his grandson had tried to remove discreetly from that journal while they'd been talking before... No. Watching Kunimitsu sweat while Kuniharu went on about _family duties_ would have made him at least wonder what he was trying to hide. His son hadn't realized yet that the boy was trying to dodge the subject... though Ayana had seen it. She'd always been a sharp girl, that one.  
     "Dear, I'm sure it would be best for Kunimitsu to settle down before discussing such things... His circumstances are hardly appropriate for starting a family of his own right now." Kuniharu nodded, taking the comment into account. His son was headstrong, something he came by honestly, but he had had the good sense over the years to remember he'd married Ayana because she had a practical head to go with the pretty face. Kuniharu himself had always erred a bit on the side of a kind of... idealism. Then, when he'd imagined how things were going to be, he didn't like anyone changing it on him. Headstrong. They all were. And now Kunimitsu was getting to be that age when fathers start looking for their sons to keep the family going. It was always going to happen someday.  
     His son sighed and smiled at his daughter-in-law. "You're probably right," he said, then turned to Kunimitsu and patted him on the shoulder. "But you'll need to start thinking about marriage before you get too old and all the best options get snapped up. Can't have you waiting too long." The boy chewed very slowly, keeping his peace. He'd already said that he hadn't considered the subject - he'd be going to play professionally after he'd finished this run of tournaments and had taken care of some '_personal business_'... Marriage wasn't in his plans, he'd said.  
     Personal business. Probably be all the boy cared to say til it was taken care of.  
     He knew Kunimitsu pretty well, though, even if it had been years since the boy'd been home. If he had something definite to say, he wouldn't keep secrets and let Kuniharu ramble on this way - and likewise he wasn't going to waste his breath arguing if there _weren't_ something definite. "I know you've been away," the boy's father went on, "and you might not meet someone to settle down with while you're playing..." Kunimitsu swallowed hard as his father kept talking, picking up his tea and taking a sip before he looked up. "Some of the men I work with have daughters about your age. I'll be happy to set up an introduction. Just let me know when you've settled in." Kunikazu sighed, remembering the games he'd attended way back when. The young man his grandson wasn't telling them about about had been wearing a Seishun Gakuen tennis uniform in one of those pictures he wasn't supposed to have seen... though he couldn't place the name, he remembered that one. Seemed like a nice boy. Good player, he recalled, maybe as good as Kunimitsu. Wouldn't be at all surprised to see the kid on the courts still. Busy as he was with work, Kuniharu hadn't made it to many games back then.  
     He was an old man, and he found he didn't have the patience for listening to this conversation going on any longer. "Who knows," Kunikazu threw in, trying like Ayana probably was to throw Kuniharu off the topic without undermining a father's authority or a son's right to decide when to talk. Wasn't going to help either of them in the long run to have other people interfere too much. "Maybe while he's settling in, he'll figure things out. You did at his age... weren't too strong on free time yourself back then, as I recall."  
     "That's true, Father. And I suppose there's no big rush yet. He's only nineteen."  
     Age wasn't the measure, though. You could live til ninety without having done a single thing for yourself. If the boy knew what he wanted, Kunikazu had decided after some hard thinking, he'd take Kunimitsu's part on it. He'd be as sad as any man to see the Tezuka name not get passed on, knew that the choices ahead could be trouble if his grandson made the name famous again in his lifetime. But he and Kuniharu were getting old... everything this family was and had been was flowing into Kunimitsu, the only son of an only son. Thinking of it like that, he'd only be risking his own name, his own life - not that of two aging men whose days were fading out. That made it his choice.  
     Kunimitsu wasn't thinking of it that way, though. He knew the boy better than to imagine he would. The old man shook his head at the idea. The heavy shadow in his grandson's eyes made it clear enough: it mattered that he'd be letting down his father, but there was just something else important enough to compete. _Someone_, Kunikazu reminded himself. Wasn't any passing fancy could worry a man's eyes like that, and no matter what his own thoughts on the matter were, there was something in the depth of it he had to respect. So he'd be on Kunimitsu's side, even with everything that meant might happen. It wasn't the scandal it would once have been, after all... The things he'd seen while he'd been on the force - the world and society and this family's place in it changing... He wasn't overly pleased with the trouble it still meant, maybe, but he was all right with suggesting that letting the boy settle down any way he liked would be just fine.  
     Kuniharu set his attention back to dinner, smiling at Ayana briefly, probably remembering that little whirlwind of a courtship... started with the proposal right off, his son had. Knew his own mind. Always did. Kunikazu could see the trouble coming, sure as dawn, when his grandson finally did have something to say. The old man had turned all this over in his mind a couple times during the meal, kept turning it over as polite chatter resumed, and it always came out the same. His son might listen if he declared as head of the family that they were going to back off of his grandson's life. Might even respect that after he was gone, not try to disown the boy. But unless those two made terms themselves, stubborn as they both were, they'd never be happy with it.  
     There was something to be said for letting people be happy, and he'd lived long enough to know. Back when his own marriage had been arranged by the family, it'd meant saying goodbye to a girl he knew whose face and name he never forgot, whose laugh he could still hear in his memory some days - a girl he'd never been able to introduce to his own father. Hadn't tried to run off with her over his parents' wishes. Hadn't dared, and she'd even told him herself he shouldn't. Wouldn't have mattered that she could keep a house as well as any girl of the right background. Her family worked down on the docks, no status nor money to speak of, she had brothers who kept the wrong company... back then, that was real trouble for a family with a reputation to keep, and for a young man starting out with the police. Probably still was. He'd cared for his wife, of course. She was a good woman, and they'd had a good life together; there weren't any regrets there. He probably would have helped Kuniharu the same way if his son hadn't jumped the gun and asked permission to propose to a catch like Ayana first.  
     Now... seeing how the two of them still looked at each other after all these years, and knowing this family just didn't need to trade on its reputation the way it once did...  
     But those were just excuses, not reasons. Good excuses, maybe, but he didn't have the heart to tell his grandson 'No' was all it really came down to. Maybe he'd gotten soft.  
     _Gotten_ soft. That was a laugh. Hard as he'd been on his own son, and on all the recruits he'd trained over the years, he'd always been soft when it came to that kid.  
     Even if it meant he had to watch the Tezuka line die out in the next generation, he couldn't do it. Watching his grandson make a life with some boy instead, and maybe be happy that way - he tried to picture it, looking over at the young man answering a question his mother had asked about the food at that hospital. It wasn't an easy life to see, but it'd be far better than watching Kunimitsu decide between saying goodbye to his family or saying goodbye to someone he'd never forget. That wasn't a choice you forced on someone lightly, and it was the choice whose weight he could already see in his grandson's eyes.  
     The clatter of dishes broke into his thoughts, letting him know the quiet family dinner had ended while he'd been mulling. Kuniharu was getting up to leave, Kunimitsu was helping his mother gather the dishes, what with her still having questions, but once all the plates were by the sink she was ready to let him go til tomorrow.  
     "You've had a long flight and a long day, Kunimitsu. Go ahead and rest, I'll see you in the morning." The young man nodded with a fond smile and turned for the door while Ayana got the water running.  
     Kunikazu stopped him on his way out. He didn't have to say he wanted a serious word for the boy to know it, just as Kunimitsu didn't have to say he was listening. He just needed to begin.  
     "All those things my son was asking you about, now. Finding someone, settling down..." He saw a hint of that shadow in Kunimitsu's eyes as he listened, and Ayana was peeking over her shoulder from the sink. "You ever have something to add to that, doesn't matter what... you speak up. Understand?"  
     The boy's mother shook the water off her hands and turned around, giving Kunikazu a look that wasn't stern so much as intent. It had been her notice, of course, her wondering with a woman's intuition back when the boy was still a boy, that had made him see it at first. Second year of middle school, it was, when the other kids from his year started playing in the school tournments, too. A similar - but gentler - intent expression from Ayana fixed on her son standing with all his friends, leading Kunikazu to ask what she was thinking. She'd said, half musing, _Just... wondering why it is Kunimitsu seems so particular about that one_... then she blushed and excused herself and they hadn't discussed it again. But they'd both had eyes to see with over that year and the next.  
     His grandson kept a steady gaze, mouth and brow barely showing the stress of saying enough without saying too much too soon. "As I said, I have... no plans for--"  
     He interrupted, putting a hand on Kunimitsu's shoulder. "I don't just mean warn us if you found some girl and wanted to marry her. Not every man's like your father, I know that. You tell us if there's something you have to say, that's all. It's your future everyone's talking about." His grandson blinked once, looking still and calm but Kunikazu knew better than to think he was. So he smiled, trying to lighten the mood. No one wanted this much heavy talk on their first night home. "At least it'll keep my son from doing anything unnecessary. He's busy enough with his own life, shouldn't be living yours, too."  
     "Yes, sir," Kunimitsu replied, nodding seriously and excusing himself from the room.  
     Ayana, meanwhile, just looked at him with a little frown and turned back to the sink. They both watched him go before resuming the conversation in the hushed tones necessary to keep it between the two of them. Wouldn't want to disturb the rest of the house.  
     Walking over to the counter and turning to face the door with a long sigh, Kunikazu began, "You raised a good son, Ayana. He'll be a fine man."  
     "I had a great deal of help," she replied, eyes still on the dishes she was cleaning. He let her think in silence for a moment, washing and rinsing and setting things to dry. Finally she breathed out calmly and spoke again, quietly. "That was a very supportive talk you gave him," she said in her usual pleasant tone. She continued, with only a slight tremor. "And very certain."  
     "Oh?" he asked, blunt as he could manage without being rude to his daughter-in-law. "You're not?" She looked at him silently, then asked his pardon as she reached for the soap from the counter behind him. "Ayana, I've watched a lot of families go through troubles through the years, over things that're more serious and things that're less. I've seen how they hold together, and I've seen how they get torn apart. I want to keep _this_ family together, same as you. So does your son, and so will mine. But telling ourselves there won't be a conflict, talking like we expect him to live his father's life, or mine, like we don't know he won't..." Kunikazu breathed in and out to calm himself, keeping the low tone to his voice. She knew as well as he did, doing that would only push Kunimitsu away from the family. The sooner they acknowledged him, the better, and that started now. Kunikazu went on, quiet but firm, "Falling in love with another man is hardly the worst thing he could do, Ayana. You know that."  
     She looked up from scrubbing a pot, a polite smile for her husband's too-blunt father on her face. "That... schoolboy infatuation? Is that what you're talking about?" Ayana went back to working on the remains of dinner with her sponge, barely a note of unease to be heard in her soft voice. "That doesn't have to mean anything. He's been away for five years, it's only natural that he's not ready to get married."  
     Kunikazu focused his gaze on a spot on the ceiling, pausing for a long moment. It was his grandson's secret, he probably shouldn't tell. But this was his mother, who'd seen so much by herself... and it was hard not having someone to think out loud with when you knew a secret that wasn't your own. "You probably won't see them when you get to look at his journal..." he said. "Your son took them out when he thought I wasn't looking... but he was keeping two pictures in there. Just two, both of that boy." When he turned to face Ayana again, she was drying off her hands, just listening, even though there were still some dishes in the sink. Her face was unreadable. "You know the one. And you know your _son_. That wouldn't be just a _schoolboy infatuation_, not anymore if it ever was. Ayana..." He shook his head, neck a little stiff with age and the late hour. "You could be right. It doesn't have to mean anything. But humor a worried old man and tell me what you'd do if it _did_."  
     That woman would never speak a cross word to her father-in-law, and it showed on her face a bit while she collected her tongue. When she spoke at last, tone carefully measured, she said, "I promised to stand by Kuniharu, no matter the circumstances, and I will. But Kunimitsu will always be my son." Ayana folded her towel neatly and added some more hot water to the sink, turning her eyes back down. "Pardon me, I really should get these finished. If you'd like, Father, I can bring some tea to your room in a few moments."  
     "Oh, I'll probably be right to sleep once I get out of your way." He walked slowly towards the door, mind sunk in thoughts too deep to name. "Good night, Ayana."  
     It was the silence - the lack of response and lack of the sound of scrubbing - that made him turn around when he reached the door. "You know Kuniharu won't see it that way," she said quietly, not looking away from the sink.  
     Kunikazu nodded, even though he knew she couldn't see him. "One thing at a time," he replied.  
     "Are you planning to tell him?" She was keeping her hand on the sponge, but hadn't moved it from the counter, and her whole frame looked like she was holding it at ease by force.  
     "No," he said. "That's the boy's job, and he won't thank me for it. Nor you."  
     The long breath she let out was an odd mix of relief and latent concern - all over one thing that wasn't going to happen yet but that she had to know would happen someday.  
     "Good night, Father," was what she said. "Sleep well."  
     With a nod, he went on his way.


	5. Chapter 5

     Watching Tezuka Kunimitsu sweep an opponent in straight sets was rather nostalgic, Fuji mused from his seat under a tree - comfortably away from the crowd around the fence. It reminded him, more than anything else, of their freshman year in middle school with the way the audience grew steadily as people started hearing about an amazing game by an impressive 'unknown'. Anyone who played tennis in middle school or followed their league recognized him, but more and more the amateur circuit was made up of people who'd picked up the sport in high school, or who had studied at a professional club. He'd heard some them whispering about coming to see this very game when he'd arrived today. They'd heard a rumor from some friend who knew someone who said he'd seen Tezuka play years ago. It was the sort of rumor that just made them more interested in the _mysterious stranger_ from Germany who'd taken two strong players already without giving up a single point.  
     Then they'd noticed him walking onto the grounds when he wasn't scheduled for a game for at least another week. It was almost too much fun to smile at their asking, _'What brings you here?'_ and answer, _'To see Tezuka, of course.'_ Hard to say if they were more excited or terrified. With a chance to play in the Olympics waiting at the end of this year's tournament season, and with every player having heard this or that about the _special conditions_ the Olympic selection committee were debating behind closed doors, who wouldn't be nervous when a person in the preliminaries caught the eye of a top-seeded player?  
     This was the third match his former captain had played, but the first Fuji had actually come to watch. He'd mulled over the idea, discussed it with Eiji over the phone, checked his schedule for conflicts. He'd had photo shoots scheduled at the studio during the previous games, but then this one had been pushed to the afternoon out of concern for possible rain this morning. Just enough time to take in a match between when the shoot ended and when he'd reserved the darkroom to work on the proofs. With no reason to stay away, in the end, it came down to the fact that there was a high probability Tezuka would breeze through these early matches. When his own turn on the court came, this year he'd be up against an excellent player - a _particular_ excellent player - and he didn't know a thing about what that man's tennis had become.  
     Five years was a long time. So this was research, nothing more, and poor research at that. Tezuka had no business fighting his way up through the prelims.  
     The game itself had been nothing unexpected. No revelations about current play level, no new skills revealed. The other player hadn't been good enough to push him that far. Fuji tried to imagine the upcoming game they'd be sure to play and the risks of meeting this man in a match, but his current skill was such an unknown. There probably wasn't a player in this area besides he himself who could bring out the real Tezuka. Not that there weren't hints. _The Captain_ was hardly the type to hide the way he played, even if he was on another level from his opponent. It was clear that either his style had gotten cleaner and his responses faster, or Fuji had somehow managed to forget exactly how good Tezuka had been. One of these was slightly more impossible than the other.  
     The two players shook hands and parted, the crowds starting to thin. Fuji's breath caught in his throat as he watched Tezuka go through the simple motions of packing his racket bag. He'd be leaving the court any minute now. Maybe a fan or two would stop to congratulate him, perhaps ask for an autograph. It was unusual at this level, but Tezuka's play had, of course, been spectacular. Then he'd walk right up the path toward the locker room, right by this tree...  
     Fuji shifted his legs closer to his body, suddenly uncomfortable with his chosen position. If he'd planned this out more carefully, he would have picked a seat on the west end of the court, where the chances would have been better that Tezuka would just walk away and never see him here. Nee-san probably would have said this meant that, subconsciously, he had some kind of desire to see Tezuka again; but he didn't need a psychologist's analysis to know he had a few unresolved issues. Sometimes it was better to let those go away on their own.  
     _I should go_, Fuji thought.  
     _I should get up and walk away._  
     Intention somehow didn't translate into action; his limbs were frozen on the spot. Getting caught watching a game wasn't the way he wanted to meet Tezuka for the first time in five years. It looked so much like running back the instant the other man showed his face, which was not at all true, and not at all the impression Fuji wanted to give -- but he just couldn't make his legs stand.  
     Taking a deep breath, Fuji considered. _And why should I leave? So maybe I really do want to see him. What's wrong with that?_ It wasn't like one unfortunate confession erased two and a half years of being good friends.  
     _I shouldn't be nervous at all. He's just someone I used to know. I see old friends all the time._  
     Fooling himself wasn't that easy, though. Whatever was or wasn't between them, Tezuka would never be 'just someone'. He couldn't be. Even as Fuji tried to calm down, he couldn't help thinking in the quiet, still places of his mind:  
     _God... The last time I saw this man...  
     The last time I saw this man, I was in love with him._  
     And of all the things he remembered from middle school, or thought he remembered, that was the one thing he couldn't grow to doubt. He'd happily say to anyone who asked that it had been a silly first crush, but he'd be fairly lying to claim that he hadn't been devastated when Tezuka left. For more than a year he'd lived in an angry, depressed haze. He hadn't even been able to cry, not until the end of his first year in high school. Whatever that connection to Tezuka had been, it had mattered. In contrast to all the memories he had, the idea that the two of them could be ordinary friends - as if that feeling had been nothing more than the crush he might claim it was - the very concept seemed unreal.  
     With everything that had happened, all the time that had passed, it would be silly to say something like, _I still love him_... but he couldn't help feeling a strange thrill when he remembered how it had been. Five years may have passed, but whenever they met, whatever he would learn to feel about the new Tezuka who would be standing in front of him now, nothing would change the truth - that he couldn't remember ever being in the same place together and _not caring_. From the day they'd met to the day they parted, to the day one unexpected call had finished tearing his heart to pieces, one way or another Fuji had always _cared_.  
     From today on, he had to be more careful. No more letting himself think that their spark back then had been anything but one-sided.  
     The memories had settled with time apart. The pain had faded. He couldn't say exactly when he'd stopped hoping that some miracle would bring Tezuka back; the feeling of wanting him around and the feeling of lacking something were everyday things he hadn't held dear. First he'd stopped noticing them constantly, and then he hadn't missed them whenever they'd disappeared. That was how life worked; but he knew well enough by now that the cure time offered didn't mean every trace of the pain vanished completely. All it meant was learning how to live your life again, without whatever you'd lost. Reminders could still hurt, like scars that twinge when you look at a fire and your body recalls being burned. The flame might be safe, as long as you don't make the same mistake twice, as long as nothing happens.  
     Perfectly safe, but fraught with association.  
     He shivered, and looked at the feet he still couldn't budge, prisoner to his own nerves. There was always the chance, if he kept perfectly still and didn't call out, Tezuka wouldn't see him here and this meeting wouldn't ever happen.  
     Of course, that would probably be worse than anything - watching Tezuka just walk by.  
     Maybe time together would give him more closure than he'd ever found while they were apart. He could hope.  
     Maybe who he'd become wouldn't have such a weakness for whoever Tezuka had grown to be. Granted, he could feel the same electric hum in the air, shades of the same energy that had always made it so difficult to focus his attention elsewhere. He knew the feeling like it was yesterday they'd met on a quiet, lonely court. Still, there was always the _chance_ that it would turn out to be nothing but memories playing with his head.  
     Tezuka turned toward the gate, all his gear packed neatly in his bag. He didn't seem to see the fans waiting patiently outside the fence for a chance to congratulate him, nor the security personnel flanking the exit. From his stride, you might think he'd come from a light practice, not a tournament victory. His face was indistinct at this distance, but the calm, collected expression etched in Fuji's memory fit well enough. Then, just as Tezuka put his hand on the latch to open the gate, he froze in place, his attention locked straight ahead. There was no way to see the exact direction from here, but there wasn't really a need. Fuji could feel it all the way from his seat on the hill, the same way he could always feel Tezuka's glances, even with his back turned. Even with his eyes closed.  
     A moment later, he lifted the latch, metal striking metal with a crisp ring that echoed through the surrounding area. Nodding acknowledgment to the few members of the once-thick crowd who had stayed specifically to wish him well, Tezuka resumed his stride off the court, perhaps a bit more quickly, more decisively than before. His steps were crisp now, where before he'd been walking as if lost in thought.  
     Passing the on-lookers now, he stepped off the concrete walkway and onto the grass, heading in a straight line up the hill toward the tree.  
     _Damn it. He saw me_, Fuji thought, swallowing nervously.  
     No chance now to leave before Tezuka noticed him - or didn't. At least it was the better of the two options. After all, there was no way he'd be satisfied with being someone Tezuka could overlook, even if starting today he wasn't going to let himself fall again.  
     Fuji settled into a confident position, resting back on his hands as if he were simply waiting. There wasn't really a way to pass this off as anything _but_ having come expressly to watch a game, and it wasn't as if he had any connection to the opponent. Even if he had wanted to leave, he couldn't do it. Nothing would look more like he still cared about what had happened than refusing to talk after he'd been spotted. Staying to talk to an old friend you haven't seen in years, on the other hand... What could be more natural?  
     _I just have to stay calm. Staying doesn't have to mean anything unless I let it._  
     Neither waved, neither called out. Fuji only lifted a hand to his eyes to block the sun as he saw that figure out of his past turning to approach. He wished that the walk from the court could have been shorter. Once Tezuka arrived and they exchanged a few brief words, certainly his stomach would stop its nervous twisting. That unsettled feeling probably wasn't anything more than the knowledge that, with the way they'd parted, this meeting was going to be awkward. Waiting was like torture in that sense. But if he'd sat closer, Tezuka might have seen him during the game, and that would have been worse.  
     If he'd been able to pick the perfect scenario, it probably would have been to meet by chance, without any warning or any time for him to get himself worked up. Maybe on a street somewhere, or someplace harmless like a grocery store.  
     But they were _going_ to meet on a tennis court, in a tournament, across a net. That was more than Tezuka's place and more than his own place. It had been _their_ place.  
     The last place he'd want to be surprised by seeing his _old flame._  
     The last place he'd pick to see Tezuka again for the first time. Meeting now, like this, he was more in control.  
     For all that the walk seemed to take forever, it was still sudden when his old teammate and friend stopped a mere two feet in front of him. From two feet away, all the expressions he couldn't see from the distant court were immediate and clear. All the changes five years had made were obvious, too. The game Tezuka and his opponent had played had been standard enough that it could have been any one of dozens of memories playing out in front of Fuji's eyes - nothing he didn't know by heart. Apparently, just seeing that game hadn't made the idea real, couldn't make it sink in that _Tezuka was back_. Seeing him so unexpectedly close, on the other hand, changed more than his perspective. Not a single one of his memories and not a single one of his musing fantasies of what might be matched this man. None of them looked _exactly_ like the Tezuka standing in front of him now. A hair out of place, a button undone, a patch of his shirt clinging to the sweat on his torso. All the little details.  
     This was reality.  
     It left him with a numbness that made breathing easier than it had been during the long wait. Fuji moved his hand away from his eyes a bit to get a clearer view, holding it away from his face in the direction of the sun. Leaning back on his other arm, he scanned the image of Tezuka standing before him again - damp with game sweat, racket bag slung over his shoulder with easy assurance. The glasses perched on his nose were more squared at the ends than the ones Fuji remembered hiding those burning eyes that had made such a fool of him once upon a long time ago.  
     All Fuji could think in the middle of this strange, persistent calm was, _Well, that's Tezuka all right._  
     What else was there to say? Five years had passed, and he was still without a doubt the same man. Same expression, same presence... a body slightly more toned and adult, but not different. _Still unspeakably hot_... Fuji allowed himself to admit, examining his old friend with a photographer's eye. That wasn't anything more than an objective truth. He'd seen enough models by now to recognize the difference between judging that a man _was attractive_ and declaring that you _were attracted to him_.  
     "Nice game," Fuji called softly, keeping his tone light and his expression unconcerned.  
     Tezuka dipped his eyes for a split second, showing no other signs of discomfort in his stance, nor in that famous poker-face of his.  
     Well. At least there was something.  
     Waiting to hear Tezuka's voice, staring down that intent gaze with an air of pleasant expectation, brought images back to mind that he hadn't recalled in years. Strange as it seemed to remember just then, with all they'd been through together, the oldest of memories flashed into his head. The first day of club activities, their first year in middle school. He'd heard that same voice from around a corner of the school building; it had sent shivers down his spine, and all he could do was think, _'Who is that?'_ He didn't even remember what the words had been, just the sound of it. Fuji had held back a moment, waiting, and soon two boys from another class in his year had come around the corner, one of them carrying a tennis bag like his own.  
     _'Are you joining the tennis club, too?'_ he'd asked them, smiling his brightest.  
     It had been the boy without the tennis bag who answered first. _'Oh, yes. I'm Ooishi. This is Tezuka-kun. You have your own racket, too. I wonder if I'm the only one who won't?'_  
     He'd laughed and told Ooishi he was sure it'd be fine - and sure enough, he and Tezuka were the only first-years with their own rackets that day. After reassuring the other boy, he introduced himself, still wanting to hear that voice again. _'I'm Fuji. It's nice to meet you, Ooishi-kun, Tezuka-kun,'_ he'd said, savoring the roll of the boy's name as he turned his attention. He'd been so thrilled that day to see his future teammate looking back at him with a steady, serious expression. _'I look forward to playing with you.'_  
     _'As do I,'_ had been all the reply he'd made, but the sincerity and the force in his tone - the sound Fuji had been waiting to hear one more time, to be certain he hadn't imagined it - made his young heart skip a beat. It had been the first time he'd felt the sensation, but by no means the last. Every once in a while it would happen, and usually he was waiting for it. Just like then, just like now, every inch of his body would almost tremble with anticipation because he could sense, somehow, that Tezuka would do something or say something, perhaps the most insignificant thing but filled with that magnetism Fuji never could resist. Naturally, Tezuka didn't disappoint. Then, all in one frantic, exquisite moment, he'd get a reminder of exactly how terrifying it could be to feel your life stop for the blink of an eye, then start again with a desperate jolt.  
     Sitting here now, waiting for a word all these years later, he could feel the weight of those eyes and he knew what was coming. Hearing Tezuka over the phone had been hard enough.  
     "Thank you," the man in front of him said at last. That firm, resonant tone hadn't diminished in the least, but the familiar sensation of the throbbing in his chest was precisely what he'd expected.  
     Tezuka Kunimitsu never did play fair.


	6. Chapter 6

     Somehow, it seemed a momentous chance encounter like this one should have come with more time to prepare. Of course, there wouldn't have been much point. This was sudden, but hardly a surprise. Tezuka had been trying for months to figure out how best to begin a conversation like this one, and for months he'd done no better than half-formed shadows of ideas. He had always imagined he'd at least be able to think of something in the seconds between when their eyes met and when they spoke; that, seeing Fuji, he'd be inspired by the moment. On the contrary, it was as if his throat and tongue had gone numb. Even the resolve he'd gathered to reach this man's side, all the times he'd said to himself _I will do this_, every fear and reassurance felt like another man's life. In the end, no matter how his footsteps might have circled, he knew: he couldn't have done anything else but find his way here. Faced with this figure sitting under the tree - though his face was an unreadable mask and his posture was indifferent, unwelcoming, daring him to even try to ask forgiveness, still - all of his preparations seemed to pale next to one tiny breath of relief.  
     _I'm so glad you're here._  
     He couldn't help but think that.  
     It was more than a passing happiness that Fuji had decided to show up at this one match. There was something comforting just in knowing that the man _was here_, in this world, in this time. Somehow, he felt as though he were taking his first breath in five years. Nothing he'd come up with seemed relevant next to that feeling. Next to knowing that all his memories had been real - not some illusion built from fragments of hope and regret - any words he'd considered over the past months faded and vanished. For the first time since he'd set foot back in Japan, it felt like this world was really the home to which he'd longed to return and where he'd feared to show his face. Finally, he'd reached the place he'd been driving himself to find. This was the place where he could stand on the same ground as Fuji, with the chance to look each other in the eye as they used to do. As he was standing there now, looking at that serenely smiling face, it was as far as he could see down the path he had to follow.  
     What came next was still a complete unknown.  
     He had no idea how to proceed, no concept of what Fuji might be seeing or feeling, no sense for what was right to say. Suddenly, years of overheard conversations echoed in his ears. _That Fuji! I never know what he's thinking!_ Kikumaru might have said. Inui never watched a game Seigaku's genius had played without muttering at least one comment about the way he 'hid' his true tennis. Tezuka had generally kept his mouth shut as people discussed how the one thing they all knew was that no one could ever figure out Fuji's thoughts, tactics, or intentions. It hadn't seemed helpful to ask what they meant by that when those thoughts and intentions always seemed so clear to him. He'd never seen the impenetrable mystery everyone said surrounded the young man - up until this moment, that was.  
     Tezuka knew that glowing, pleasant expression, but the air with which Fuji faced him didn't leave the impression that he was happy, nor that he was upset. It didn't leave an impression at all. The disconcerting lack of any sense of what was in Fuji's mind behind that smile left a bitter taste in Tezuka's mouth. Getting this close made it perfectly clear how far he still had to go; he'd crossed the ocean, but standing between them still was the impossibly thin, adamant barrier of a harsh farewell buried under five years apart. The gentle, implicit understanding he remembered sharing, an irreplaceable bond that had barely required words, had been shattered and swept away.  
     "Nice game," Fuji called out, as if he hadn't a care in the world. No one would say from his voice that he was upset or even troubled, and perhaps he wasn't. But whether or not he was still upset, the mere fact that Tezuka couldn't tell was a hard blow to take. Back then, from the day they'd met, they had almost shared a kind of telepathy. He'd missed that connection when he'd put that distance between them; if it was possible, he missed it even more painfully now. Maybe Fuji had forgiven him, or maybe he had forgotten whatever he used to feel. Maybe he hadn't. Either way, Tezuka knew from the unreadable expression on Fuji's face that whatever they'd shared back when they'd been young and falling in love, he had to help it recover from a worse strain than his arm had ever suffered on the court.  
     Of course, maybe he hadn't deserved the honor of being trusted with a vulnerable heart like that one - not when he'd managed to miss all the signs that Fuji had wanted some kind of acknowledgment of the connection he'd taken so blindly for granted. In the space between them now, Fuji's voice from all those years ago sounded silently, the anxious tone so evident in memory that all Tezuka's muscles tensed when he recalled it.  
     _You're leaving?_  
     All Fuji had needed was some kind of assurance; that much seemed clear in hindsight even if he'd been blindsided when it had happened. Some part of him - some vital part that had been left hollow since that day - had been just as anxious not to let Fuji slip away, but it wasn't a part of himself he'd known how to take into account.  
     _Meaning what? If this is goodbye, then say it!_  
     The placid expression on the face in front of him was a bitter contrast to the honest, frantic eyes that had shocked him into numbness years before - the firm line of his show-smile to the soft, pleading kiss stolen as the sun set. Probably, at the time, Fuji hadn't even known himself what he'd been asking for when they'd said goodbye. The boy he remembered never backed down from a question, nor from an answer. Instead, Fuji had done something desperate and instinctive, trying to protect a bond he saw more clearly than Tezuka could. It wasn't surprising; he'd been separated from people he loved before, with his father always traveling and his brother changing schools. Tezuka, on the other hand, hadn't recognized the feeling and had let him walk away, not able to make a promise to come home. That ignorance was no excuse for his failure to act; even _he_ had known, somewhere inside, that letting Fuji walk away was wrong. But because he hadn't known what was right to say, he hadn't even thought to try '_Stop_'.  
     _Don't expect me to wait around for you._  
     The last terrible words he'd heard before they parted. The one crystallizing moment when he'd realized - what Fuji had just denied him was exactly the thing he'd wanted, the feeling he'd been trying to comprehend and put into words. The feeling that, no matter what, he wanted Fuji to be a part of his life.  
     Throughout middle school, it would have been nonsense to think that someday, without warning, his friend wouldn't be there. Going off, intending to play professionally, it seemed so clear that his one rival would end up on the same courts. Tezuka had grown accustomed to the genius's constant, supportive presence. He had never once thought to consider what it might mean to him if he turned around and that smiling face wasn't there by his side, because he couldn't even conceive of the idea. Now, he knew. Now, he'd grasped what he was up against. If he hadn't been cognizant enough to deserve the understanding they used to share, he'd stay at Fuji's side until he learned.  
     He'd earn back what he'd lost if it took the rest of his life; and if he couldn't see an inch down the path before him, at least he could remember the past. Standing dumb and staring would never be the correct choice.  
     "Thank you," Tezuka replied, noticing a momentary twitch at the corner of the man's mouth. His smile recovered almost instantly, but he looked less carelessly pleased.  
     The wind had ruffled his hair, leaving a few sections sticking out at odd angles, though with a casual push Fuji could settle the strands back in place. Some of the layers that used to frame his face fell almost to his shoulders now, brushing his collar but not obscuring the proud arch of his neck. "You let your hair grow," Tezuka said softly as the total blank in his mind let his first cogent thought slip to his tongue. He was just barely calm enough to wince inwardly at how inane that sounded.  
     "A bit, I suppose," Fuji replied. The comment had been unexpected at least - Tezuka hadn't been the type for small talk before and he didn't seem comfortable with it even now. There was a sort of calming surreality to the idea that his old captain was _nervous_. It was a weak opening; he could probably use a decisive reply to end this conversation and walk away clearly in command of the situation. Instead, he decided to field it, answering in kind, as if he were parrying to see exactly how this point would be played before deciding how to conclude it. "You got new glasses," he said. After all, they'd both been subject to little changes in appearance.  
     At their mention, Tezuka pushed the frames up on his nose, shifting his bag on his shoulder afterwards as if he didn't quite know what to do with his hands. Small talk didn't really suit him at all. No comments about his eyesight getting worse, or about the doctor, or about whether it was challenging to shop for prescription glasses in a foreign language. Just moving on, as if he'd crossed the topic of personal appearance off of some list of things you could discuss with an old acquaintance. So, he didn't want to discuss hairstyles or fashion choices. That was hardly surprising. But he'd skipped right over the first item that would be on the list of any person who'd made one, surely.  
     _I haven't seen you in a while... How've you been?_  
     It's what Taka-san would say if he happened to visit home and stopped by Kawamura Sushi. It's what Momo would say if he went to the school to see how his former teammate's 'apprenticeship' to Ryuuzaki-sensei was going. It's what Eiji would say as he was running up to meet him anytime he had a chance to come home. But this wasn't your ordinary catching-up conversation. It was so odd that Tezuka could seem as focused and intent as he was on a conversation that was neither rote nor on a topic he was interested in discussing.  
     "How's your brother?" he asked next, and his tone this time was more centered, the question more considered. Maybe they were both making cautious volleys, trying not to leave an opening until they could see what the other conversant was trying to do. But who would break first?  
     _Oh, listen to me... acting like you could win or lose a conversation. We're just talking. It's not like there's anything to lose._  
     But that was a thin lie when the flutter of excitement he'd forgotten he used to feel was starting to tremble. There was a great deal to lose if he grew fond of this man once more, especially when there were no signs that this was anything but a chance meeting between old friends. He'd learned the consequences of letting his infatuation cloud his judgment.  
     _If I really do start falling for him again..._  
     Fuji couldn't finish the thought. The memory of how it felt to be so sure and then to be so wrong was old but vivid. He wasn't going to go through it again. It was enough to know that, in this conversation, even if he wasn't going to lose to Tezuka, he could lose to himself.  
     _Well, I won't attack just yet_, Fuji decided. The best approach was going to be to simply wait and see what happened. He hadn't even intended to have this conversation. Not _really_. Tezuka had approached him this time. He'd just defend until he found out why; when the scene was clearer, he'd think about making a move. Maybe towards a simple friendship, if they could ever do that; maybe distancing himself from a companion whose presence would be nothing but a heartbreak. After all this time and all this silence, those were the reasonable options.  
     Because Tezuka coming to see him and speak to him so directly didn't _have_ to mean that Tezuka had cared all those years ago - the way he'd wished were true.  
     Because Tezuka _seeming_ nervous now didn't mean anything at all, not really, and it was silly to hope it did.  
     It was silly to imagine that maybe Tezuka was asking about his brother because he cared. Still.  
     _It's so silly of me_, Fuji thought, trying to clear away those ramblings in his mind and listen to the conversation at hand with an unbiased view. _That's a stupid thing to imagine. Isn't it?_  
     "Yuuta's all right," he answered lightly, pushing back the nonsensical hopes and all those stupid tears he thought he'd outgrown. At least he was far more comfortable and accustomed to this style of conversation than his partner. Even if everything else failed him, he knew how to carry on conversation about his brother. "He's studying quantum physics at TouDai now. Can you believe it?" Tezuka gave a slow nod to show that he was listening. "I hope he wins a Nobel Prize someday. The things he's working on sound so fascinating." There was a pause long enough for a friendly smile, a chance to see if his old captain would latch onto the dangling topic thread and ask what was so fascinating about Yuuta's research, or if perhaps the topic of beloved family members was just another dead end.  
     The follow-up question never came.  
     "How's your grandfather?" Fuji shot back before the lull turned uncomfortable and broke the rhythm of the conversation, waiting to hear how Tezuka would come at him next.  
     Nodding again, he replied, "Grandfather's doing well. He..."  
     Then Tezuka trailed off, but it sounded less like a hesitation than as if he were purposefully cutting himself short. After a moment, he spoke again, starting the conversation over with what felt like more of his familiar, firm style.  
     "It's good to see you," he said.  
     As he spoke, Tezuka saw Fuji's eyes blink wide for just a moment, a barely perceptible tension shooting through the man's steady poise. He picked up his hands from the ground, resting them both on his knees, and pulled his legs in closer as he sat up straight. That tension showed in the way he smiled now and set his expression back into an impassive mask, in the way he locked his hands together and sat with perfect grace. Tezuka could sense an energy in Fuji's posture that resonated with the imperative running through his own system - the absolute need to _not screw up_.  
     It was foolish to take a little thing like that hint of a reaction and make it the basis for an attempt to assume the kind of relationship they used to have. He'd be wiser to go slowly, to build a solid foundation for mutual understanding.  
     To give Fuji a reason not to throw a declaration of intent back in his face as too little, too late.  
     Still, that one momentary shock looked like a glimmer of sunshine hinting at a clearing sky. Even if it was only a one in ten thousand chance that Fuji had missed him too...  
     _No. I know he didn't want me to leave. Whether or not he missed me then isn't the question. This is about whether or not he still wants me to come back. And I'll take any chance, no matter how small._  
     The delicate-seeming boy he'd recalled standing on the court with a graceful gentility, concealing so much pride and passion, as a man had matured into that promise of cool beauty. His form and features had refined with the years, and the ease with which he projected an untouchable air in his posture and expression was formidable. In Germany, he'd been keenly struck that a cameraman had been able to steal an unguarded glimpse of the Fuji he remembered. The thought that some man existed to whom _this_ Fuji would show his true face...  
     _That's right. The Hyoutei boy_, Tezuka thought, suddenly deflated. Graduation would have long since passed, but it was still the first description to come to mind. He'd almost managed to erase the memory of the photographer from his mind. But he couldn't afford to ignore the man's existence, even if he'd prefer to.  
     Whatever crack might have shown in Fuji's pleasant facade was gone, the illusion of ease restored to perfection. Fuji cleared his throat, looking aside with a discreetly grim smile before he turned back to meet Tezuka's steady gaze. The softly faded blue of his shirt highlighted the shade of his eyes; it would have been impossible to turn away from their sharpened, intent expression, even had he wanted to. The turn of his lips was coldly gracious.  
     "Gosh. Would you look at us?" Fuji said, adding a quite pointed laugh to his tone. "You'd think old friends could skip the awkward pleasantries. Maybe not us, though, hmm?" There was a subtle message under his words, and whether intentional or not, it's content was clear enough.  
     _If you think you can show up with a simple platitude and expect me to fall into your arms, you're a hundred years too early._  
     _Or perhaps five years too late._  
     With an offhand comment, Fuji had managed to redefine the best introduction he'd been able to summon as nothing more than an empty stock phrase. Which, if he were fair, it _did_ resemble; but the sentiment was genuine. The brief moment when he'd seen that jolt in his companion's expression was enough to know that some part of Fuji had realized it.  
     "If you want to stay," Fuji said, pushing a hand over the empty patch of grass beside him, "you should sit. The sun is behind you, and looking up is going to hurt my neck."  
     He tried to swallow his frustration with how hard it was to find the appropriate words and with how easily easily his attempts were dismissed. He'd known this probably wouldn't be easy. Sitting on the grass a bit stiffly, Tezuka focused on the far-off horizon and tried to make sense of the blankness screaming inside his head. He breathed out slowly at last and turned his eyes down to the ground at his feet before he found the courage to look back up at Fuji's eyes. That clear gaze had always seen through his every word and his every silence long ago. In a way, that had made it easier to relax when he was concerned or confused. Those eyes could pull him out of any darkness or any mood.  
     _But what do I do when he's the reason I'm confused?_ Tezuka wondered.  
     Was it the play of light through the leaves that made Fuji's expression seem softer just for a moment? His eyes seemed to have the same gentle laughter in them that he'd been used to seeing whenever his serious face cracked or slipped and only Fuji could see it. He'd forgotten how startlingly attractive those eyes were up close. He'd known it was true, but the effect in the moment was another matter. It had just been another passing glimmer before the impassable face he was wearing returned, but he was sure it had been there.  
     "That's better," Fuji said brightly, repositioning himself precisely - turned closer in, but not facing him fully. "I can see you now."  
     "_Natürlich_," Tezuka replied, only half speaking aloud, the word seeming to fall from his lips without thinking. '_Naturally_,' Fuji translated in his head, startled for a moment. '_Of course_'.  
     But the most striking thing was the tone. Almost at the same time he caught himself wondering, _German?_ Fuji had had the thought, _Now that sounds like the Tezuka I remember_. It hadn't occurred to him until that moment that there'd been something slightly off this whole time. As Seigaku's captain and before, he'd never said much but what he did say was confident - even eloquent in its brief, simple fashion. He'd certainly never lacked the right word for an occasion. Today, there were pauses, tiny hesitations as if he were searching for words. But then, he'd been overseas so long, hearing and speaking a different language...  
     Fuji paused until finally a questioning glance prompted him to speak. "Are you thinking in German?"  
     Tezuka blinked. Again, a slight pause, almost imperceptible but he'd made such a detailed study of his captain's speech patterns when he'd been young and naive. This one seemed more surprised than searching, though. "Not... that I've noticed. Did I just...?" He trailed off as he seemed to notice that, yes, he had. "Sorry. That was more habit than _thought_."  
     "Hmm. Still, I wonder if so long away without regular practice did erode your Japanese a bit."  
     "That was hardly to be avoided." Everyone had always poked fun at Tezuka for being expressionless, and certainly his moods were subtle, but they were there if you knew how to look. This one was _wounded pride_, which might well befit a man who considered himself articulate and well-read, and who came home from abroad to find his language skills lacking.  
     He put on a sweet smile. "Are you finding it's getting easier, though? Now that you're back home?"  
     "Yes. Day by day." Not that he'd ever let himself show a weakness or admit that he wasn't in his best condition. Not _him_.  
     "That's kind of amazing," Fuji said, shaking his head. "To think you were actually away long enough to start _forgetting_ your own native tongue." He stretched over his knees, keeping his expression friendly, disarming. He waited for Tezuka to meet his eyes before he continued. "I wonder what else you might have forgotten since you left."  
     His eyes were steady now, and neither one of them backed down from their locked gaze. For him, even without constant reminders, some memories were indelible; Fuji had sometimes wished that he could forget how it had felt when they were together, but he never would. Of course, he hadn't been the one to leave those days behind.  
     Somewhere behind that formidable poker-face, Fuji could see he'd found a tender spot. Tezuka breathed out in a sort of discontented half-sigh, and turned to face the lowering sun, resting his arm on a raised knee. He didn't answer at first.  
     When he spoke at last, it wasn't hesitant at all.  
     "I didn't forget you," he replied, and turned back with eyes that seemed to answer every unspoken word. "I've missed you. It really is good to see you again."  
     There it was, one more time. He stayed perfectly still and did his best to keep his smile perfectly bright as he listened to Tezuka's words.  
     _You missed me?_  
     _Did you, Tezuka? Did you really?_  
     It stuck in his throat that his prodigal captain would come back and dare to imply that he wouldn't have chosen to be apart. He _had_ chosen it. How, in this moment, could he even think to compare some feeble concept of 'missing someone' to what Fuji had gone through when day turned to night on that court so long ago? If he could even sum it up in the words '_I've missed you_', he couldn't possibly understand what that meant.  
     _Tell me you know what it's like to have someone leave when it burns out your heart til you're a hollow shell._ If he could express a feeling like that, maybe, just maybe he could actually understand how much it hurt to really, truly 'miss someone'.  
     _Tell me you had to build yourself back up from pieces, because I was as much a part of you as you were a part of me, Tezuka._  
     _Tell me the sun never shone til today._  
     Fuji chuckled wryly at himself, fighting back a few tears in his eyes and a closed choking sensation in his throat. _The sun never shone, indeed. Just listen to yourself._ That was ridiculous, of course. There had been days without a cloud in the sky, so many of them in the past five years. It wasn't as if Tezuka had anything to do with the weather. If the light seemed to shine brighter today, if the sky where it peeked through the leftover clouds was more vibrant, if the cut grass smelled sweet for some reason, it was just because some days were like that. It would be so very, very stupid to think the world had been behind some kind of grey filter all these years that had been lifted just now, just because one man happened to be sitting next to him. Just because Tezuka was saying things that sounded...  
     So honest. Not that he'd ever sound any other way. And of course, that man would never say what Fuji wanted to hear.  
     "Well, it's good to see you, too," he answered as soon as he could find his voice again.  
     _But I'll never say I missed you._  
     Tezuka's eyes reacted slightly, as if he'd heard the silence instead of the friendly response. Fuji wished he would look away. It wasn't easy keeping a clear head when there was a hurt expression like that one on that particular face. He wanted to scream that if Tezuka was going to act that way, he shouldn't have left in the first place. It wasn't fair.  
     He examined the patch of grass by his feet, anything to look away. He needed to calm down. Between that anger, that resentment, and all the mess Tezuka's eyes could stir up inside him, it wasn't easy to stay in control. It didn't help that today had been such a guilty excitement, watching Tezuka play. He'd loved it. It had been amazing, simple as it was. How could it have been any other way? But that tennis was why Tezuka had left. He'd had to fix his style, his habits, all the little things that built up in a match until he aggravated his elbow or shoulder and did himself more harm. If he wanted to play through his career, he'd needed to rehabilitate himself.  
     Fuji paused on the thought, focusing his sight on the green blades of grass poking out of the ground, every line burning into his eyes with a kind of sickening clarity.  
     _To think it took him five years..._  
     That was a rather sobering thought when they'd all considered a month or two to be serious after the time Atobe had decided to shatter Tezuka's shoulder.  
     "I don't think anyone realized how badly you were injured," he said at last. He'd regained enough of his control to look back up and see if Tezuka had lost the pain in his eyes. He seemed to have recovered well enough. "I'm not even sure Ooishi knew. He probably wouldn't have let you play against Sanada if he had. That match couldn't have helped your condition."  
     "I don't regret playing at Nationals," he replied. An admission hadn't particularly been necessary; they'd all seen the strain on Tezuka's arm that day. But the implicit confirmation in his words struck a nerve.  
     "Of course you don't," Fuji said, letting his tone become a bit clipped. It was such a contradiction, not caring about it one day but later having no choice but to leave. If he had still been injured, he shouldn't have even come home in the first place, shouldn't have stayed past the Nationals, shouldn't have told them he was fine.  
     _Shouldn't have told_ me _he was fine._  
     Who could say how much damage he'd done to himself, how much longer rehab had lasted because he'd driven himself to keep the promises he'd made, promises any one of the team would have happily let him leave unfulfilled. A month? A year? More? _For what? A stupid flag? One last game?_  
     _But I was so happy to see you; we all were. It never occurred to me to wonder about how fast you were able to recover from an injury like that._  
     Fuji smiled again. "That's just the kind of man you are. No regrets. Isn't that right?" He stretched his legs out, resting them against the hill, and leaned forward to get a better look at Tezuka's face as he went on. "I suppose, even if Sanada's Lightning had destroyed your arm, you still wouldn't regret it. Because you were keeping your promise. You'd keep any stupid promise, even if it cost you everything, and when you were done you'd go back and make that promise _again_ without a second thought." With a bitter laugh for the fact that, after all, the last game had been _his_, Fuji continued, "Did you think that saying you were good to play would make it _all right_? Did you think _any_ of us would have wanted you to push yourself like that?" Fuji looked off to the side, taking in a long breath and hoping Tezuka didn't notice how he was fighting to stay calm. He would have waited a lifetime to play that game if it had meant they could play without Tezuka putting more strain on his arm. If, when Tezuka had come back after his first trip, he would have been able to _stay_. Of all his captain's habits, by far the worst was the way he would always, without questioning it, act without regard for his own boundaries or his own safety.  
     The words that broke into his thoughts sounded like they were echoing from half the world away. "I know," Tezuka said. Despite how distant that voice seemed to be, the reply was soft and intimate, and not nearly as contrite as it should have been. "But it was within my capacity to play."  
     "You just don't get it," Fuji replied, frustration bringing him close to snapping.  
     He paused, stopped himself from launching into a tirade about how you had to take care of yourself or you'd hurt the people who cared about you. It was the kind of speech one only delivered _if one cared_. Tezuka's well-being was no longer his concern. There was a time, he would have to admit, when that commitment, that passion, was part of what had drawn Fuji in, and seeing it drive his beloved captain to play past his breaking point had filled him with a kind of awful terror. But it was always a passion for the next match - nothing more than that. From here, right now, it just looked senseless. While inside he simmered, outwardly Fuji smiled back at his unfathomable companion.  
     "I suppose I'm glad you left before you made any _more_ stupid promises. I trust your arm _is_ better now?"  
     Tezuka flexed his hand, closing and opening a fist as he felt the pull and release of the muscle. He could see the familiar stretch moving under his skin. Was his arm better? He had believed it was 'better' when he came home for the end of middle school, before taking the time to unlearn old habits and learn a subtly new tennis that put less strain on his joints. It had been _healed_. He could play. He could come back to his team and give them the kind of tennis he'd been holding back on doctors' orders since his injury freshman year.  
     But it hadn't been his most powerful tennis that had worn him down and shattered his shoulder. The most basic of his techniques, ones he'd use without thinking and simply were the _way he played_ through one long, drawn out, single-set match - that was what had taken him out. Before his first injury, it might never have happened, but the damage had been too much to go on that way. The player he'd been would have never been able to endure seasons of full matches as a professional. So, back then, he'd had to choose between taking the time to relearn the game or giving up the dream he'd had for so long. And was it '_better_' now? His arm, his tennis? All of it?  
     The doctors had seemed certain that he could expect to last out his career. His own instincts told him he could depend on his arm. It felt strong. He didn't have the sense yet that his new training had become his natural way to play, but maybe that was never going to happen at the clinic. At the very least, what his old coach had said was true. There was no more progress to be made that required him to stay in Germany. From here on, it was one game after another until he could swing the racket without thinking again.  
     Whatever challenge that might present, it wasn't part of the answer to Fuji's question. His arm was fully healed, and he would no longer play with the tennis that had strained it. That had to be '_better_'.  
     "Yes," Tezuka said firmly. "It is."  
     _You might say that I should have considered more than my immediate capacity before I played you again. That I should have known. But I wanted that game so badly._ And he'd never played better than he had that day, with Fuji across the net. Together, they'd surpassed the limits of the game. Nothing on earth, nor in heaven and hell, could make him wish he could take back that match. Even after the hell of how they'd said goodbye, of being frozen inside while time passed him by, he was _happy_ they'd played.  
     Tezuka wanted to say he was sorry, but Fuji was absolutely right; every single one of those games he'd played had been important enough to him that he was glad he'd had the chance. Given the same choices, he probably would make the same decisions again.  
     All he truly wished he could change were those terrible moments after it was all over, watching Fuji's back as he walked away. _But how can I ask for those moments to be different, without changing anything I did?_ It was clear that he couldn't make the promises he'd need to make.  
     _I still have a long way to go_, Tezuka thought to himself. He could almost hear Echizen's voice calling him out in a mocking tone.  
     Right now, maybe the best he could do was to start by making things go right _this time_.  
     Tezuka's eyes gazed out over the busy park, not focusing on anything in particular - not on the now-deserted court, nor on the people walking in twos and threes to whatever destination. His eyes might have been looking at the scenery, but he wasn't seeing a bit of it.  
     It had been easy enough to tell when he was considering the answer to Fuji's question, but after Tezuka had given that answer at last, his arm had relaxed and his thoughts had seemed to turn inward. The hush that fell over the two of them was so painfully close to the way they used to sit quietly together, not needing to say a word to keep each other company; nothing good would come of settling into the patterns of old times, especially when the silence was this strained.  
     Especially when, despite how much he wanted to run away, staying here together was so _tempting_. It hadn't been an illusion after all that, once upon a time, he'd fallen in love just like this.  
     Fuji ruffled his hair with one hand, looking at Tezuka with what he intended to be an obvious expectancy, but his companion seemed lost in his own head. "What are you thinking?" he asked finally.  
     "Excuse me?" He'd been startled, apparently. _Quite deep in thought, then. He's not often surprised._  
     "What are you thinking?" Fuji repeated. "As pleasant as it is just sitting here, I can't actually read your mind."  
     When Tezuka looked up at him, he regretted asking almost immediately. More than once during his high school days, Fuji had decided that his severely biased memory must have exaggerated the intensity of those eyes. He'd been certain that those recollections were just his imagination, and that Tezuka's gaze had never actually had that mesmerizing power. No one could really be what he'd wanted Tezuka to be. But his eyes, at least, could still give Fuji goosebumps.  
     _And what's so wrong with that? Isn't he what I wanted?_ Was it so very bad to pick up an old emotion and dust it off? Let himself be happy when Tezuka came home with the words on his lips that he'd wished to hear for so long?  
     _Isn't this exactly what I wanted?_  
     It was what he'd hoped for all that time, before he'd realized it wasn't going to happen, and he had to learn to want something else. Before he knew how impossibly hard that was to do.  
     His hand had fallen on the ground so close to where Tezuka's rested. The urge to move it just those few centimeters was strong - to see if, by holding the hand he'd missed so long, he could feel the same kind of certainty he'd had years ago.  
     And maybe, if Tezuka didn't let go, this time he wouldn't get hurt.  
     _Because if I fell for him again... if I let myself give in to this weakness... _  
     Would it be so bad to fall in love again? The man he couldn't seem to _not want_ was right in front of him, making it so easy to think that if Fuji took his hand right now, everything that had happened between the two of them would finally be okay.  
     _Stop it_, Fuji cautioned himself. _Stop this, stand up, walk away. Just walk away. You can't do this to yourself._  
     His fingers curled into a fist on the grass, the words 'never mind' on his tongue. He didn't really want to know what Tezuka was thinking. Even if the response was everything he'd ever hoped, he couldn't let himself go through another goodbye. He just needed enough breath to dismiss his question, and then to tell Tezuka he had somewhere to be.  
     If only he could breathe properly.  
     _Which I'll never do while I'm looking at him._  
     He turned his eyes away and began shifting his weight to stand, but the 'never mind' that was still waiting to be spoken got cut off.  
     "I'm sorry," Tezuka said.  
     He reacted before he thought, stopping on one knee halfway through standing up.  
     Well. Now they were both on the same page.  
     "You're _sorry_?" Fuji asked. He might not have bothered to hide the incredulous tone even if he'd waited before reacting. A direct statement deserved a direct response, something to let him know that - under some circumstances - '_Sorry_' was just laughable.  
     Tezuka swallowed hard; making apologies wasn't easy for him, apparently.  
     _That's fine_, Fuji thought. _This one shouldn't be that easy._  
     "What I did hurt you. I never wanted that."  
     "Oh?" Fuji replied. "That's nice." Five years ago, he recalled, just those few simple words might have made all the difference. Or maybe they just might have kept him from giving up for a little longer, made him believe for a few more months, another year... delayed the day when he accepted that his heart had been broken and he would have to glue the pieces back together. Today, hearing them and realizing just how little they changed the past made the words ring a bit hollow.  
     This man sitting here wasn't the one whose apology he wanted, for whatever good it might do. He wanted the Tezuka he loved to tell him that he hadn't imagined everything, and that man wouldn't have been _sorry_. Those words were so close, so very close, to what he'd wanted to hear for so long... It reminded him of the times when he'd truly _believed_ that Tezuka could look in his eyes and understand what he felt.  
     And it was just that little bit wrong. Different enough that he knew this wasn't some miracle that would reunite him with his middle school crush so they could live happily ever after. Just an acknowledgment. Just to say it was unfortunate that someone's feelings had to get hurt, and that the person was him.  
     _Isn't that right, Tezuka?_  
     _Of course, I wouldn't want you to say, "I loved you, too," either. Would I?_  
     Because there was no way to go back and change it.  
     Because he couldn't even want it changed. Not the fact of leaving, anyway.  
     Without that, who could say what would have happened? Another injury? Something beyond fixing.  
     And seeing Tezuka without tennis, injured beyond the possibility of playing, would have been at least as horrible as those few years apart.  
     _Oh, would you listen to me?_ Fuji thought. _I'm going to do it all again, and this time I know better._  
     Covering for all the confusion and knowing he was sitting in front of the one person who could never be allowed to see it pushed Fuji back into his calm place. _I don't want to hear it_, he realized. _Not until I can hear it for what it means instead of what I wish it had meant back then._  
     Somehow, that was enough to get him on his feet. Some mixture of embarrassment and disgust with the both of them simmered underneath a placid facade, and he stood. "You know, I should really be going. I've got pictures to develop for a job."  
     Tezuka stood too, rather suddenly, as he brushed the grass off his pants. "Have you eaten?"  
     He blinked at the intent - he would have said 'desperate' if he hadn't known better - expression on his former captain's face. "Excuse me?"  
     Back in middle school, Tezuka only ran his hand through his hair that way when he was quietly worrying and hoping no one saw. "After I got cleaned up, I was planning to get dinner." Fuji knew what was coming next. It was more than a little disconcerting to hear Tezuka making requests that sounded more like the bad pick-up lines from guys at the studio than anything else. He almost laughed as the words, "Would you come with me?" came out of Tezuka's mouth.  
     _You don't make any sense, Tezuka. If you wanted me that much, you would have come back. You would have said something._  
     _Wouldn't you?_  
     Fuji looked over his shoulder, away from the tennis court and away from Tezuka's eyes, reminding himself that he'd long since figured out that he couldn't live in the past. "I told you, I have to be going. I'll see you on the courts."  
     "But..." He turned back to see Tezuka pulling his racket bag onto his shoulder, saying, "You still need to eat."


	7. Chapter 7

     Fuji paused, caught rather off-guard.  
     Had _Tezuka_ actually said, '_You still need to eat_'?  
     He'd heard lines like that before, always from would-be admirers who were full of a kind of desperation that never had much appeal. He'd smile and say, '_Sorry, got to run_,' and leave them standing mid-plea. Of course, those people had never been Tezuka.  
     It meant something when Tezuka had that kind of look in his eyes.  
     His old friend brushed away the hair the wind blew into his face. The same breeze, when it reached him, carried the faintest hint of Tezuka's shampoo. It was just a trace, almost nonexistent, but enough to catch. It reminded him of whispered studies in the school library as six-inch voices turned into three-inch voices, faces close while they shared a book and the adrenalin of a touch made his pulse race; of subway trains at rush hour, when Tezuka would make sure Fuji had a place close to the pole and the crowds would push them into an awkward embrace; of rainy days when he'd been caught without an umbrella, and his captain would walk him home under the spare Tezuka kept in his locker. Fuji fought back the tears he could feel starting to well up in his eyes. He was done with feeling this way, long past done.  
     But the wind smelled like memories.  
     Damn it.  
     And damn Tezuka's eyes, too. The very idea of still being in love with the ghost of Tezuka past was senseless and baseless and weak. He knew that. Time and again, Eiji, his sister, his mother, and so many others had told him that he had to let go. He'd seen it for himself during his first year of high school when sometimes he couldn't even look in the mirror -- but the part of him that couldn't forget the sunlit afternoons they'd often stolen after practice had never wanted to listen.  
      He almost felt as though he could make out Tezuka's thoughts, echoing like voices in his head.  
     '_Please, don't walk away from me again_,' he heard his captain thinking.  
     No, not '_heard_', he reminded himself. '_Imagined_'. Like he had imagined that he'd 'known' the man had cared for him in middle school. What reason had there ever been to think he'd been special, the way his captain had been special to him? They'd been friends, like everyone on the team, up until the moment he'd tried to ask for more and ended up with less. He'd combed through his memories a thousand times for any hint that he'd been different from any other friend, and there was nothing to make him sure. What had Tezuka ever given him but a rare gentle look, or an occasional smile?  
     Memories from his days at Seigaku left a bitter aftertaste in his throat. Passing off those moments as _just_ a look, _just_ a smile was ridiculous. Tezuka had never once looked at anyone else that way, whether it had been love or friendship. If they'd been 'only friends' back then, it had been a friendship worth keeping. It had been real -- but not something that could mend a strained elbow or shoulder. Nothing would have changed the fact that Tezuka had needed to leave Japan. Probably the only thing he could have done would have been to wish his friend well, and he hadn't even done that.  
     And after three years trying to convince himself that Tezuka hadn't cared, all it had taken was one phone call to remind him how untrue that was. He hadn't forgotten the way he'd broken apart then, the way he hadn't been able to ignore the fact that Tezuka had been thinking of him. If ten years had passed, or even twenty, he'd probably still remember. And the disquiet he felt now was the same as when he'd heard Ooishi answer his phone and realized who was on the other end.  
     It had never occurred to him that it could hurt to remember Tezuka's smile.  
     Fuji tried to pull his thoughts to a halt. He'd overreacted two years ago, gone crazy with wondering if he had made a mistake, given in too easily, pushed when he should have pulled...  
     He couldn't do that again today.  
     At least this time, he could face the thought that Tezuka might have cared without falling apart.  
     It was hard to swallow with his throat choked up this way, but he could still stand up -- without storming away like he had that night in Yoshi-san's dorm room, when his boyfriend had found the nerve to imply what no one else had been willing to say. And even after Fuji had slammed the door in his face, Yoshi-san had still come to find him. Not that it had taken long. He'd barely gotten four feet before he'd collapsed against a wall in the hallway, pathetically grateful for the embrace he'd gotten used to and the voice whispering '_I love you_' in his ear. The stupid fool had stayed with him the whole night -- through all of the memories, and through all of the panic.  
     That stupid, sweet fool. For all that he'd planned on Tezuka being the love of his life, it had never been Tezuka's shoulder that he'd cried on, nor Tezuka's arms that brought him back to his senses. What did it matter if he couldn't be certain now whether Tezuka had loved him once or not? He knew better than anyone how feelings changed. Five years ago, nothing had made him happier than thinking his captain had cared about him. Right now, those eyes staring at him were like an oppressive weight he couldn't shrug off however hard he tried.  
     It wasn't fair having to see him like this -- the person he'd given up on, desperate for a chance to talk. Nothing _else_ had turned out the way he'd planned when he was fourteen. Tezuka hadn't stayed in Japan, miraculously better without the need for doctors or trainers. They hadn't gone pro together and stood on top of the world, side by side and hand in hand. He hadn't even managed to stay upset and heartbroken and suffering for as long as three years with Tezuka gone, let alone for his whole life. Some days, he hadn't even remembered that he'd meant to.  
     If he could go back, he'd tell himself at fourteen that he would regret making Tezuka choose. Or perhaps that five years wasn't too long to wait, or that it wasn't so hard to call someone and say '_I miss you_'.  
     Fuji breathed in slowly and told his heart to stop hammering against his chest. It didn't help. The words echoing in his head were drowning out everything he was thinking or feeling.  
     _I've missed you so much._  
     _Please, don't walk away from me again._  
     Fuji wasn't even sure whose words he thought they were anymore.  
     What he did know, Fuji reminded himself as the silence drew out, was that Tezuka had asked him a question, and he still hadn't answered it.  
     _Would you come with me to dinner?_  
     Because he had to eat.  
     He breathed in deep and made himself answer at last. "I was just going to grab something quick on the way to the studio," he said, toying with the words, '_Sorry, maybe some other time_.'  
     _If he wants to have dinner with me that badly, why not let him? What does it matter? Running away isn't any better than wishing things could be like they were. It won't change anything._  
     He left the decision to his captain in the end. "I don't mind the company if you want to come along, but I'll be eating while I walk."  
     Tezuka's answer was a quick step and a nod, and Fuji bit his lip to suppress an involuntary grin that was entirely inappropriate. Somehow, walking together, his head didn't feel like it was connected to his feet, and his legs were moving lightly of their own volition. It was thrilling, just for that moment, like the years had vanished suddenly and his memories of being fourteen were coming back to life.  
     Then Tezuka hesitated outside the locker room door.  
     Fuji let out his breath, and his fanciful excitement faded away. All he had left were nerves and what felt like a rock settling in the bottom of his stomach.  
     _I might not be able to eat anyway_, he thought.  
     "Changing won't take me five minutes," Tezuka said, pushing the door open a crack.  
     "I know how fast you can change." Part of him wanted to run off and scream, but he couldn't move away.  
     "Please wait," he said in that firm, confident tone Fuji remembered so well, which was somewhat at odds with the nervous twist to his old captain's lips. "I won't be long."  
     A shiver ran through his skin as the present and the past kept flickering in and out of focus. "I..." he began, trailing off as he realized he had no idea what to say.  
     Of all the times to remember that kiss, it _would_ come back to him now. They were stopped by the locker room, with Tezuka half in and half out of the door, their eyes locked and their faces so close that Fuji could feel Tezuka's breath stir his hair. Maybe it wasn't so strange to recall, nor so strange to feel the sensation of a phantom touch on his lips. Tezuka was only a few inches away, less than a step. He could nearly taste it. He could feel the warmth and the pressure of Tezuka's arms, and he never thought he'd have that chance again.  
     There was no one in view right now. If he did try to steal those years back, who would know?  
     Fuji put his hand on the wall and pressed the heel of it hard against the cinderblocks.  
     _No. Absolutely not._  
     This wasn't love. Whatever he was feeling and whatever mysterious logic was making Tezuka beg for a meal, it wasn't the simple-hearted affection they'd both left behind. Time didn't work that way. One meeting wasn't going to erase everything that had happened, even if one kiss could break his heart.  
     The weight of Tezuka's questioning stare wasn't going to disappear until he'd finished his sentence. Any sentence. He focused on the feel of skin against hard cement, keeping his eyes on the white patterns the pressure made on the edges of his hand. "I'm not interested in an apology," he said at last. "We were kids." He turned to face Tezuka again, trying to form the words '_It didn't mean anything_' in his mouth. He'd never been good at telling falsehoods to his captain's face. So he smiled like there was nothing wrong and said, "That's all in the past," as lightly as he could. Tezuka seemed at a loss for words, standing frozen with his mouth set tight and his hand clenched tighter, gripping the strap of his racket bag.  
     Fuji turned his eyes to the ground, growing more uncomfortable the longer Tezuka looked at him that way. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a movement near the trees by the path. Probably other players, staying out of what had to be obviously a personal conversation, and here the two of them were standing in the doorway like fools where anyone could see.  
     "There, now. Hurry up," he said, brushing the hair out of his eyes. If he were lucky, it'd look casual, not nervous. He put on his brightest smile and hoped that helped. "I haven't got all day, you know."  
     With a silent nod, Tezuka stepped inside the locker room. Fuji stood, biting his lip and watching the door swing and slow to a stop.  
     Then one of the people standing by the tree called out. "Well, _well_," said a voice he knew slightly too well to ever forget. "If it isn't Fuji Syuusuke. What an unexpected pleasure."  
     _Atobe._  
     Why did it have to be _Atobe_? He'd heard quite enough unsolicited opinions from Hyoutei's _king_ in high school, and now here he was -- at the worst possible moment.  
     Naturally, he saw Kabaji on the peacock's left when he turned to face the approaching party. A young woman he'd never seen before was following on the other side. Atobe was wearing a suit and his lackey was't carrying a tennis bag, so he couldn't claim to have been playing a match. Of course, he wasn't in the local bracket, and he'd never have stood for being in the preliminaries at any tournament. Not _him_.  
     "You must be looking for Tezuka," Fuji called out as the group drew closer. He waited for the former captain of Hyoutei to come close enough that Fuji could see his smug expression and speak without raising his voice. "What a _pity_ you didn't come a few minutes earlier. He just made other plans."  
     "I'm sure he did," Atobe replied, one corner of his mouth turning up into a smirk that Fuji could have done without. "I shall have no choice but to cede your prior claim."  
     Fuji gave him a brief smile. A reply didn't seem particularly called for.  
     In the silence, he could hear a shower running and the jangle of rings on the shower curtain. _The last thing I need right now is to picture Tezuka naked_, he thought, casting around for a distraction before locker room memories could take hold. Not that he wanted to focus on Atobe, of course, and Kabaji was about as interesting as the wall he was leaning on.  
     He glanced at the stranger instead, who was checking something in the leather planner in her hands. Secretary, most likely. The newspapers had stopped referring to Atobe Keigo as the eldest son of the Atobe directorate some time back and started calling him a vice president of some family business or other. It wouldn't be surprising for him to have a personal assistant -- though this girl could have given most of the models he'd photographed some competition for their contracts.  
     _Girl? Woman?_ Fuji wasn't sure which he'd use.  
     It was hard to tell exactly how old she was from her looks. If she was working as an assistant to a vice-president, then probably she was older than they were, but he'd say within a decade. She still had the 'young' look of a model in her prime, before she had to move on to being an actress. Long, dark black hair, a complexion somewhat on the fair side... He'd probably put her in something more vibrant than the grey sheath dress she was wearing now. Red, maybe, or bright blue. Of course, muted tones were probably better for allowing Atobe to be the center of attention, which was no doubt part of her job.  
     "If my memory serves," Atobe mused pointedly, breaking Fuji's focus on his chosen distraction, "you shouldn't have a match until next week, during the tournament proper. Cheering on an old teammate, are we?"  
     "Investigating the competition," he replied. "I'd hate to be complacent, after all."  
     Any other day, he would have walked away. They weren't in a league together anymore, and he wasn't on Hyoutei's campus with Atobe thinking he had any right to tell Fuji to leave. He didn't have to listen to the megalomaniacal ramblings of a spoiled society brat who thought he owned the world and everyone in it.  
     But today was different. Fuji had promised to wait, and he wasn't going to leave because of someone like _him_.

~//~

     Tezuka stepped into the middle of the shower and turned on the spray full blast, suppressing a shiver when the icy water poured over his skin. He didn't think about the cold -- just closed his eyes and opened the shampoo. After taking approximately two seconds to work it through his hair, he went straight to the soap and washcloth he'd set down on his left. There wasn't any time to waste.  
     It wasn't a problem that he had to keep his eyes closed in case the lather dripped onto his face while the running water rinsed it out of his hair. With his glasses off, he couldn't see far enough for that to matter.  
     The water was cold, but the rough feel of terrycloth on his skin was pleasant. He might have even called the combination refreshing. The chill helped cut through the confused fever in his brain, calming down all the nonsense that had been racing through his head while he'd been grasping for anything he could do or say to stop Fuji from leaving. And he'd done it, somehow. Fuji would be waiting outside the door when he left.  
     _It worked_, he thought with a tiny smile.  
     Even if it wasn't perfect. _It's all in the past_, he'd said. Fuji couldn't possibly have believed that. It was clear enough from the expression on Fuji's face when he'd said it that there was a situation still lingering into the present. Of course, the last thing he himself would want would be for everything between them to be over, done, and gone.  
     But even more than the words, Tezuka couldn't get the tone of Fuji's voice and the tilt of his smile out of his mind. He'd said those words the same way he had told classmates at Seigaku that he didn't mind his brother transferring to St. Rudolph. His expression had always been the same: a smile that was so clearly false that he didn't know why anyone was fooled. Perhaps it had been easier for him to spot, since he'd memorized all the ways Fuji smiled when he was happy, and had seen his facades fade away when everyone else's backs were turned.  
     But today, Fuji had been lying -- hiding from him behind that same empty smile. The truth wasn't his privilege anymore.  
     He ran a hand through his hair to make sure all the lather had worked its way out, turning off the spray just as it was starting to warm up. There was no time to pity himself for ending up in this situation. If Fuji was still the person he remembered, after leaving the way he did and hurting him the way he had done, he would be the least likely person to hear the truth about it. To the best of his knowledge, Fuji had never once told Yuuta-kun how much he'd missed seeing him at school or at home. He'd said, when Tezuka had quietly wondered, that he didn't want to give his brother a reason to be sorry he'd left.  
     Tezuka hesitated for a moment before pulling open the shower curtain.  
     '_I'm not interested in an apology_.'  
     He'd said that, too, hadn't he?  
     And if Fuji didn't want to hear an apology, he'd be wasting whatever chance he had today if he tried. Maybe the day would come when he could ask forgiveness for being blind and clumsy. Until then, trying to ask for more than his friend could give would only make Fuji push him further away. He would have to make do with the consolation that, for whatever reason, Fuji had decided to be kind today.  
     Just that thought made him feel more sure of himself than he remembered feeling since he left Japan.  
     Tezuka gathered his things, wrung the water out of his washcloth, and took his towel from the hook on the wall as he started towards his bag. He could barely feel the tile under his feet, and the hum of new energy throughout his body made it hard to avoid rushing himself. Putting all the focus he could manage into making deliberate steps, he walked out of the showers and into the locker area. Time was limited; he had to be efficient.  
     When he walked into the rows of lockers, drying off his hair and shoulders, a voice outside the door that he recognized immediately as Atobe startled him. "_Girlfriend_? What on earth do you mean? I don't have a..." Tezuka thought he heard Fuji chuckle softly in the pause when Atobe's words trailed off. "Oh. I'll thank you not to make jokes, Fuji," Atobe began again. "She's my assistant. I assure you, if Hino-san ever had such aspirations, she was quickly relieved of them."  
     "Me, date _him_?" a girl's voice said with a laugh, slightly more muffled with distance than his friends' voices. "Not a chance."  
     He rubbed his hair roughly with the towel one last time, declared his head dry enough and took care of his arms and legs.  
     "Though I suppose introductions are in order," Atobe said in the background. Tezuka, trying not to eavesdrop despite the clear echoes in the room, pulled his street clothes out of his bag, packed the towel in with his match wear, counted through his times tables silently to help himself focus, and tried to decide what would be the right thing to say to Fuji if not an apology. Unfortunately, he had no more answers now than he'd had yesterday, and the blank space in his head couldn't drown out the conversation by the door. "Fuji, this is Hino-san. She manages my schedule, facilitates arrangements, and acts as liason to my office when I'm overseas."  
     _Six times eight is forty-eight, six times nine is fifty-four..._  
     "It's a pleasure to meet you," Fuji said from just outside the door.  
     "And you as well."  
     _Seven times two is fourteen, seven times three is twenty-one..._  
     The familiar chant helped a little to keep his focus off the words drifting into the locker room and on the task at hand, but as hard as he was trying to be calm and efficient, Tezuka still tripped getting a leg into his pants. He wasn't accustomed to this kind of nervous energy. While he'd been talking to Fuji, it had been easier. There hadn't been time to worry.  
     "Hino-san," Atobe continued. "I believe I would have mentioned Fuji Syuusuke. He and Echizen played with the same team in middle school and high school."  
     "Of course, at Seishun. You're the Fuji who beat him once in high school, aren't you?"  
     _Seven times ten is seventy. Eight times one is eight..._  
     "Did I?" Fuji mused. The easy lilt to his voice drove away any pretense of not hearing the exchange, and Tezuka chuckled while he fastened the button on his pants. It was like hearing the old Fuji suddenly, listening to him feign ignorance that way. Somehow, that familiar sound made his mood lighter. "That must have been the Tokyo Finals second year. I'm sure I went against Kabaji-kun when we were seniors."  
     "Don't pretend you don't remember, Fuji."  
     Tezuka pulled on his undershirt and tucked it in roughly with one hand, grabbing his outer shirt with the other. Of all the days to have worn a button-down...  
     "But Fuji-san, if you were on Echizen-san's team, you _must_ know His Highness has a boyfriend."  
     He winced at the girl's comment, fumbling at a button. It was his preference to ignore Atobe's effusive declarations and to believe that Echizen was being sarcastic, but up to this point he'd never had to hear an objective third-party opinion.  
     _Eight times two is sixteen, eight times three is twenty-four, eight times four is thirty-two..._  
     Outside, Fuji laughed lightly.  
     "I beg your pardon. My Highness does not have a _boyfriend_. My Highness has a _soulmate_. Honestly."  
     "Oh, goodness," Fuji replied. "Is he _still_ putting up with you?"  
     _Socks, socks, socks..._ Tezuka thought, running through the end of the eights in his head while he searched his locker. He pulled his shoes off of the top shelf. His socks weren't there, nor were they in the pile on the bench, but they had to be somewhere. Had he forgotten to take them out of his tennis bag?  
     "Just as I could never conceive of another so fit as he to my very being," Atobe was rambling in the background, "my peerless laurel blossom could in turn only be satisfied by myself and none other."  
     _And nine times two is eighteen, nine times three is twenty-seven, nine times four is thirty-six..._  
     "Though broad seas stand between us, our fates are as one."  
     "Must be nice to have a jet."  
     The words from the conversation outside echoed strangely off the walls and lockers inside the otherwise empty building, like he was listening to a far off recording that someone was playing from every corner of the room -- clearly audible and impossible to fully ignore, as hard as he was trying to do so. A discussion at full volume outside a public facility wasn't exactly private, so perhaps he shouldn't have been so ill at ease, but they didn't necessarily know he could hear them, either.  
     At least this situation wouldn't last much longer. Socks in hand, Tezuka sat on the bench to pull them on and lace up his shoes. Now, he'd just comb his hair, and that should be it.  
     _Nine times seven is sixty-three, nine times eight is seventy-two, nine times nine is--_  
     "_Transportation_ is hardly the issue," Atobe's ringing oratory continued, increasing in volume as if he were intentionally trying to drown out Tezuka's attempts to concentrate. "What we have that too many lack is full and total _commitment_. Bards could sing our example to young lovers eternally, and I only wish the sands of time could return and send the song back through all of history." Luckily, dismissing Atobe's long speeches had gotten to be second nature over the years, especially when he chose this particular topic. The trick was to imagine Echizen rolling his eyes and walking away. "As ever, I and my delicate flower are the very _model_ of glorious perfection to which all who seek lasting happiness should aspire."  
     Tezuka stepped away from the mirror, where he'd somehow managed to part his hair properly despite the continuing tremors in his hands, and cast a dubious look at the door.  
     _Delicate flower?_  
     Not that he had any leisure for that to concern him. He was ready, and Fuji was waiting. Tezuka lifted his bag to his shoulder, slipped his comb into an outside pocket, and started for the door.  
     "Hmm. How charming," Fuji mused, his voice sounding less like a recording and more alive as Tezuka stepped away from the echoes, closer to the person himself. "Though even if your _bards_ could find a way to _make time return_, I don't know that a _song_ would have mattered when circumstances couldn't be helped."  
     "_Really_," he heard Atobe say as he placed his hand on the door. "Yes, I aggravated Tezuka's injury. It was a lapse in judgment for which I have felt remorse deeper than I expect you will believe."  
     Tezuka pulled his hand off the door and moved back a step.  
     _What was that?_  
     "But take a good look at your circumstances now, Fuji: Tezuka is _back_," Atobe continued. "This grudge against me is now meaningless. He's in perfect condition, and he's not on the tour. He's _here_. Why is that, I wonder?"  
     "It may have escaped you, but _this_ is a tennis tournament," Fuji replied.  
     Tezuka stared hard at the door. Even though he knew it was stupid, he was unable to stop himself imagining that the door itself had been the one speaking rather than the person on the other side of it, and that -- if he looked at it sternly enough -- it might explain itself. Certainly Fuji would have said something more like, '_What on earth are you talking about?_' rather than replying like Atobe's comments had followed in any way from what they'd been discussing. They couldn't have, could they? Had he misheard something? He'd been trying not to listen, after all.  
     He must have misheard something.  
     "He came back for you, and you'd be a fool not to see it," said the voice that seemed to come from the wall, although he knew it had to be Atobe. Walls couldn't talk, let alone get into arguments with doors over his reasons for coming home.  
     Tezuka tried to refocus and reassign the voices to images of their proper owners, fighting for his presence of mind against the bright sound of laughter coming from the voice behind the door.  
     He was... laughing.  
     _Maybe I don't want to picture this_, Tezuka thought, retreating to contemplation of the door handle.  
     "The Tezuka I remember wouldn't do anything so pointless," said a cheerful voice. "Did he tell you otherwise? Or is that just your _judgment_?"  
     "What else do you _think_ could compel a man who waited so long, now, to seek out the very person who had broken his spirit to begin with? And make no mistake -- if you do so a second time, I swear you will regret it even more than you already do."  
     Tezuka tried to open up his lungs, hoping to make enough air go through his throat that he could voice some objection, but the attempt was more difficult than he had expected. Before he could even manage to breathe properly, the woman cut off the words he hadn't managed to form. "_Atobe-sama_. Just--"  
     "Oh, no," the voice from the door replied, jumping into the middle of her sentence. "Don't worry about it, Hino-san, please. Atobe is well aware how much I value his honest opinion. Aren't you, Atobe?"  
     After a scoff that was barely audible through the wall, the party waiting outside fell into an awkward silence. Tezuka tried to breathe normally, slowly in and slowly out, resisting the way his lungs wanted to stop as if paralyzed. Hesitating, he squeezed a fist tightly for a moment, then reached out his hand for the door again.  
     "Speaking of Tezuka," Atobe's voice cut in suddenly, making his hand spasm next to the door handle as if the metal had sparked and shocked him violently. The adrenalin pumping through his system was making his heart hammer so hard on his chest that he was surprised it hadn't broken through his ribs.  
     _Don't back away_, he told himself. _You can't stand behind this door forever_.  
     But what kind of atmosphere would he be walking into?  
     While Tezuka stood, frozen, Atobe went on in a careful tone. "Have you and he had a chance to discuss the rumors?"  
     "Which rumors?" Fuji asked.  
     The conversation ran through Tezuka's mind and right out again, words getting lost without leaving a lasting impression while he tried not to panic. Just the sound kept him from moving, each syllable sounding like the refrain, '_pointless_', like a drum playing in his head.  
     "You know _which rumors_. Every amateur tennis player in Japan is whispering about what the selection committee is saying behind closed doors."  
     "Oh, _those_ rumors." The airy tone of dismissal turned suspicious after a moment. "It hasn't come up. Why?"  
     "Oh, no reason. Waiting is probably best. He'd have no interest in idle supposition, after all."  
     "I suppose not," was Fuji's only reply before silence fell again.  
     Tezuka took a deep breath -- pausing briefly to be sure the voices wouldn't start again before pushing on the handle -- and stepped out mechanically, eyes unfocused. He had to go. The point wasn't negotiable.  
     As Atobe noticed him, the former Hyoutei player's face shifted to a bright smile. "Ah, Tezuka! You join us at last."  
     The first thing Tezuka saw when he turned to look at Fuji was a pleasantly smiling mask that probably wasn't meant to appear friendly. He tried to open his mouth to say something, but the words wouldn't come. There was a slow change in his friend's face starting when their eyes met. His smile grew less broad, and his eyes opened wider. Little by little, his cheeks went pale.  
     _He didn't know I could hear._  
     Fuji turned his head away, looking down the road that led to the park entrance. His ears had turned slightly red, as if sunburned. "Well, isn't this inconvenient," he said, then turned back with his face composed again into a pleasant expression. "Atobe showed up looking for you just after you went in to change. I imagine you two will want some time to catch up."  
     "I..." he started, but still couldn't think of a word to say. Even if he'd had a word, as soon as he looked at Fuji, his throat was choked and his mouth stiff. He watched the man look down, then back over his shoulder toward the gates.  
     Tezuka turned towards Atobe, hoping that somehow his friend could make clear what the _hell_ he thought he was doing. Fuji's lying smile pushing him away when he'd left to go inside had hurt, certainly. It's cut had been sharp and it's haunting image had been bitter and strange; but it hadn't been anything like _this_. What could he hope for, hearing something like that? And while even Fuji was showing signs of being mortified that Tezuka had heard them fighting, Atobe was as calm as he'd ever seen. No, more than calm. He was intent.  
     _You meant to provoke him_, Tezuka thought. His fist clenched tight next to his leg, arm and shoulder and back locking up tight. _You knew_. But why? There was nothing Atobe could possibly gain or want to gain by making him hear something like that. Even if it was the truth, still...  
     His hand went loose at his side.  
     _Is that how he really feels? That I could think this would be pointless? That it is pointless?_  
     He didn't even know where to begin proving that it wasn't true.  
     _Is this what I'm up against?_  
     Atobe turned to meet his eyes while he was thinking. Tezuka couldn't remember ever having seen an expression quite so joyless on his friend's face as he did now. That was more the Atobe he knew. He might not understand the reason, but he could recognize Atobe's moods. For what it was worth, there had to have been a reason.  
     Tezuka managed a deep breath at last. "Atobe. Will you be around later?"  
     Fuji whipped his head back toward the conversation. He didn't look, but he could feel it. But he'd let the one person he'd cared for run away once without trying to stop him. Even if Fuji did think it was pointless, this _was_ why he was here. He had to try, as rude as it was to turn away a friend who'd come to find him.  
     "You'll have to excuse us," Tezuka went on. "We're in a bit of a hurry."  
     A hint of a smile started to show on Atobe's face. "Not to worry. It was made it clear upon my arrival that you were spoken for. I have the whole evening if you think you'll be free afterwards."  
     "Actually," Fuji interjected. "Oh, gosh. Would you look at that?"  
     He turned slowly into the silence that followed to see Fuji examining the watch set in the wide strap on his wrist. The expression on his face when he turned his eyes up was strained.  
     "Nearly five-thirty already. If I don't get there by six..." Fuji bit his lip, shifting the watch strap with his other hand before dropping his hands in loose fists to his side. "You know, why don't you two just go ahead? I really don't think I'll have time to stop anywhere."  
     "But..." Tezuka said, hoping he could keep his chance from slipping away. Still, he couldn't force any more words through his throat.  
     Fuji smiled a smile that he could tell was forced and touched a hand briefly to Tezuka's elbow. "Look, it was great running into you like this, but it's not like I'll have any time to talk -- and Atobe _did_ come all this way just to see you."  
     Watching his friend move back -- one slow step, then two, then bringing his feet together to stand still -- that was when he noticed: He'd assumed that Fuji happened to have stayed after a match, seeing him on the schedule or maybe on the court. But he wasn't carrying a tennis bag.  
     _He wasn't in the preliminaries. He'd said as much._  
     Did he have some kind of business with tournament administration? Or...  
     Tezuka clenched his mouth tighter, just in case the words that had finally managed to find their way into his thoughts could find his voice as well. '_Did you come here to see me?_' wasn't a question Fuji would want to answer. Not in general, least of all when he was playing false like he was right now and was embarrassed over what he'd said. Certainly not when he was trying so hard to leave by himself that he'd give Atobe an inch, let alone give away the company of someone he'd come purposefully to see.  
     And that was if the answer were '_Yes_'. It might not even be the case. There could be another reason. But from where he was standing, watching sunlight reflect off Fuji's hair, he felt certain. Whatever grandstanding Fuji might have done in front of Atobe, this was anything but pointless.  
     "I promised you dinner," Tezuka replied. "Can I meet you after?"  
     He could tell he was pushing too hard from the way Fuji bit his lip again.  
     "Tonight?" His friend pushed a piece of hair behind his ear, hooking the thumb of his other hand into the pocket on his jeans. "No, I'll be working late I think." With a laugh that almost sounded natural, he added, "But I promise to order in a bentou."  
     The lingering warmth of the touch on Tezuka's arm made his body remember the feel of the scared, desperate Fuji that he'd let slip away.  
     _You don't think this is pointless, either. I know you don't._  
     His chest tightened as that lying smile stayed on. "If you still want to see me, I'm sure we'll run into each other again, so..." Fuji's voice trailed off and the smile faltered. "Some other time."  
     _I know because you're standing here in front of me._  
     Tezuka swallowed, then forced himself to breathe. The sight of Fuji's back when he turned to leave was too familiar a sight. He remembered what it felt like to stay quiet and entrust their next meeting to _chance_.  
     "When?" he called out, hoping the question sounded calm.  
     Fuji stopped mid-step, standing a moment before he turned back. Never once, as long as they had known each other, had Tezuka thought his friend was weak; but the clear eyes turning to face him layered in his mind on top of images from the past of the same eyes filled with tears, and the contrast made him pause. Even more than that, he couldn't help being amazed at the contrast to his own tongue-tied awkwardness. On the hill before and right at this moment, when he was desperately trying to say anything at all with no idea of what was wrong or right, Fuji could stand and think and set aside with a pleasant smile whatever concerns had been making him run away.  
     It was stunning.  
     If he hasn't known better, he would have said Fuji wasn't embarrassed or anxious at all when his face brightened and he asked, "Are you free Saturday evening?"


	8. Chapter 8

     A nod from Atobe to the hostess at the front of the little cafe, and their party of four moved past the line of waiting customers to take a table in the back. Tezuka stepped aside to let Kabaji and his friend's secretary follow closer to the former Hyoutei student. He couldn't spare any focus for Atobe's small talk, not while his mind was still spinning from speaking with Fuji. Truth be told, he might not even want to hear it. What had he missed in five years that he came home to hear someone he'd counted as a solid friend accusing Fuji of...

     _Of what? Of breaking my heart? I was the one who let five years go by without letting him know how I felt. Fuji had no reason to feel guilty._

     He would have assumed a friend like Atobe would respect that instead of ambushing Fuji -- stirring up trouble just when they'd been trying to start over. His position was tenuous enough without someone making an issue of the past. Accusations would make Fuji defensive and less likely to give Tezuka a chance. Fresh reminders of old wounds might push him closer to the photographer.

     The photographer.

     The man who'd made Fuji happy when he'd failed.

     Tezuka stared quietly at his teacup as the hostess filled it, not looking up at Atobe until after they were left to themselves. "--so he named the asteroid after a noble house from the Holy Roman Empire. Well, some few have been so named, but Wittelsbach in particular--" Atobe stopped soliloquizing and took a sip of his tea. "Well. I see you aren't in a mood to discuss asteroids. Nor Bavarian princes, I expect."

     Atobe had all but asked to clear the air, and even if he was loath to discuss personal matters in front of Kabaji and the secretary, they both had been present. There were no secrets to keep. He studied his friend's grim expression and recalled how mortified Fuji had seemed when he realized that Tezuka had heard the conversation between the two of them outside the locker room. "That was uncalled for," he said.

     Atobe's mouth twisted into a humorless smile as he set his teacup down. "You have my apologies, Tezuka. Though I would have said 'unfortunate', not 'uncalled for'."

     Tezuka glared across the table, which neither upset nor surprised Atobe as far as he could tell. His friend still wore that strange expression from before, as if he'd found the bickering at the park as distasteful as Tezuka had. As if his distaste after the fact absolved him of picking a fight with Fuji. He looked down and pushed his teacup over to his right, straightening his fork, knife, and spoon at the edges of his place.

     "Yes, '_unfortunate_'. That's the word," Hyoutei's former captain continued. "He should have realized he didn't mean what he said without the necessity of such an embarrassing scene on all our parts, but I couldn't take the risk of letting that particular sentiment go _undefused_, as it were. You must understand, if he'd steeled himself to tell _you_ he didn't care, he'd have made you believe it. Saying it to me didn't require half as much resolve."

     "You _hurt_ him, Atobe." He clenched his fist under the table and kept his tone as calm as possible. "I didn't expect him to welcome me. That wasn't your risk to 'defuse'."

     Atobe pulled his napkin off the table, unrolling it with a flick and laying it across his lap. "Perhaps I couldn't stand to watch the two of you make asses of yourselves for another five years. And, as I overstepped my place, I have apologized to you. I assure you, Fuji will neither expect nor appreciate anything of the kind. If he's suffering, it's because he knows I'm right."

     Tezuka turned to look at the room beyond their little booth. The cafe was reasonably busy, but he couldn't focus on a single feature or on any person passing by. His thoughts ran on and on in circles.

     Across the table, Atobe sighed. "Depression doesn't suit you, Tezuka. Cheer up. You'll win over your paramour soon enough."

     "Will you keep away from him?" he asked.

     Atobe looked at him with some surprise.

     "I'll take responsibility for my own mistakes. For when I should have been there, and wasn't." He could see that Atobe had meant well, but accusing Fuji had still been unreasonable. What was more, that had sounded like a fight they'd had more than once. If that was a pattern, it ended now. "Fuji did nothing wrong. Don't antagonize him."

     The waitress arrived, and the table fell silent as she set out an array of scones and sandwiches. Atobe thanked her and waited until she was clear of the table to speak again.

     "You _both_ should have been there. I respect your resolve, Tezuka, but don't try to do this alone. As a friend, I'll tell you one thing I learned through my own mistakes: a relationship takes two people. Making someone else's life a part of your own without that person undertaking the same is lunacy. If you believe nothing else I say on the matter, _believe me_ when I tell you this. Until both of you take responsibility for every day you want to be together, from now until your natural conclusion, you won't be together. You'll just be in the same place."

     Tezuka took a scone and snapped it in half, setting both parts on his plate without taking a bite. He had no reply to make, and he made none.

     "Tezuka, you have my word. Will that do? That was the first time I have ever intentionally antagonized Fuji, and I swear it will be the last."

     "It's not possible that today was the first time."

     That subtle look of distaste crossed Atobe's face again as he raised his eyebrows. "I'll admit, I did occasionally have some words with his young man, but that was an entirely different matter. I'm frankly appalled on behalf of my school that he didn't step down as soon as he learned Fuji's affections were engaged elsewhere."

     "If that's the case, it's no wonder he hates you," Tezuka answered. He couldn't imagine that Fuji would have taken Atobe's 'words' lightly, not if he'd been as close to the photographer as Tezuka could infer from the honesty in the picture he'd seen. Of course, the image of Fuji holding a grudge against Atobe for the photographer's sake didn't sit any easier on his mind than the thought that Fuji might have held Hyoutei's former captain responsible for his own injury, as Atobe had claimed. It was yet another reminder that his hope of Fuji accepting him hinged on asking Fuji to leave someone he cared about that much.

     "If there are those who would vilify me, let them do so -- I stand by my opinion. A Hyoutei student should have better manners, and as soon as I'm chairman, I mean to introduce a course dedicated to instilling them." He turned to his secretary as he took a scone from the tray. "Hino-san, take that down. I'll draw up a syllabus tomorrow."

     Tezuka cracked a smile despite himself at Atobe's attempts to cheer him up. "Ooishi seemed to like him."

     With a shrug, Atobe considered the statement. "He may have been likable. I never saw the need to make a deeper acquaintance before he left."

     Tezuka paused in the middle of a sip of tea, not quite certain he'd heard those last words properly.

     His friend raised an eyebrow and asked, "What is it?"

     "He... " His sentence trailed off. Hardly for the first time today, finding the right words was more difficult than it should have been. "The photographer. He left?" Tezuka managed at last.

     A wide smile spread over Atobe's face. "For college in Kyuusyuu. He's been out of the picture, so to speak, for well over a year." His friend laughed at him. It seemed reasonable to assume that his inability to make a reply was accompanied by some amusing facial expression. "Tezuka, didn't you know?"

     In her seat in the corner, the secretary was laughing silently as well, and Tezuka had the distinct and embarrassing impression that he was blushing. However, that didn't concern him; he had to consider what he planned to say when Fuji called this evening, after he finished at his studio.

~//~

     Fuji dropped his bentou on the table in the studio lobby and ignored it in favor of his cell phone. His stomach had stopped churning, but he still wasn't quite up to eating. Just looking at the packaging made him feel a little nauseous. It was hard to believe, but he had an easier time looking at the number he was supposed to call when he finished up in the darkroom.

     He was going to decide on details for Saturday, for a dinner that he wasn't entirely sure wasn't a date.

     With Tezuka.

     There went his stomach again. He hadn't felt nervous like this since...

     Well, not for a long time, anyway.

     _Mobile number. Name..._ He typed quickly to enter the kana, watching with ever increasing surreality as they changed to kanji and he confirmed them. _Te... zu... ka. Ku... ni... mi... tsu._ It looked just the way he'd remembered.

     _Well, how else was his name supposed to look?_ Fuji chided himself. _Don't be silly._

     Before he let himself stare at the name too long, he went to save the photo he'd taken for Tezuka's contact entry. He could come up with all the justifications he could want for snapping a photo. Force of habit, wanting all his entries to have pictures... he didn't need to explain it away to anyone. But when he'd had the impulse to call out, 'Say cheese,' without a warning, he knew what he'd wanted, even if no one else did. A picture of Tezuka looking surprised. Off balance. A picture of him being anything but Seigaku's strong, stoic captain. He'd been hoping for something to push those images out of his head.

     His plan had backfired, unfortunately.

     It didn't look anything like the face he'd showed the team, with his eyes more gentle and his mouth less stern, but it looked exactly like glimpses of his teammate he used to spot out of the corner of his eye, ones that Fuji had never really believed he'd imagined, no matter how rare they were. An emotional gaze softening Tezuka's hard edges, captured like the perfect image of Sasquatch or the Loch Ness monster on his cell phone.

     Tezuka with his guard down.

     Fuji put his hand to his mouth, bracing himself against the table as he considered deleting it. This probably wasn't the picture he wanted to keep.

     "Fuji-san, you're early! I didn't think I'd see you today."

     He turned around and forced a pleasant smile. The new receptionist was sweet -- in her first year of college, just like Yuuta -- but he had no intention of oversharing. "Akiko-chan, how are you?" Fuji pulled out the seat next to him at the table. Shin was sitting at the reception desk now, twisting a brightly dyed lock of hair around his finger while he worked a crossword puzzle, which meant the photography student was off her shift. "Sit, if you've got a moment."

     She smiled back and took the seat, folding her hands on the table. "Just a moment, I suppose. Daddy will probably have a fit and demand that I resign again if I'm home too late." The first time he'd met the girl, he'd accidentally overheard her on the phone, explaining to her father that she wasn't going to quit since she'd be more likely to get an internship in the summer if she had work experience in the field. The man on the other end of the phone hadn't seemed too pleased, but she'd managed to stay on at the studio for a few months now.

     "Well, we wouldn't want that. I guess I won't be able to carry you off to my castle after all." He pushed the save button on Tezuka's picture and cleared the screen. It was time he learned to deal with the past. "There goes _my_ evening."

     Akiko rolled her eyes and brushed her bangs out of her face with a sigh. "I'm sure he'd be fine if some prince wanted to run off with me. He's more worried that I'll turn into a _career woman_. Last night, he actually said I should find a husband before I pass my '_expiration date_'. Can you believe it? I'm not against getting married someday, but I'm only eighteen. It's like he's living in the dark ages."

     "Well, if he's concerned about _that_," he teased, "I'd tell him that no one's opened your packaging yet, so you'll keep for a few more years."

     She blushed bright pink right down to the tip of her prim little nose. "Fuji-san! I couldn't tell him that!"

     "Oh?" He chuckled and untied the bentou box sitting on the table. Maybe putting off dinner until Saturday was for the best after all. He'd have a chance to relax and get used to the idea of seeing Tezuka again. After a bite of curry, he went back to teasing Akiko, who pouted when she was flustered just like his brother did. "Did something happen with that cute astronomy student that you didn't tell me about?"

     "We _only talked_ the _once_," Akiko shot back as she leaned toward him, "and that's not what I meant, and you know it."

     They both started at a loud cough from someone standing next to the table. It was Kenta, the studio tech, dropping a thick envelope from the stack in his arms onto the table. "Mail. It's from Cotton Time," he said. Probably proofs with processing notes from the last shoot he did for the magazine. "_Must_ you have them send things here? Don't you live somewhere?"

     Fuji took the envelope with a smile. "It wouldn't fit in my mailbox without folding, and the postal service won't leave anything outside my door. They said there's too much risk. But Nakata-sensei told me it would be all right for business packages to come here."

     "Right," he muttered and turned toward the reception desk.

     "I really wish he'd be more polite," Akiko sighed as he walked away. "He and Shin-kun both. You're a customer, after all."

     "Is that all I am to you?" Fuji asked, putting on his best wounded pout. "Just another customer?"

     "No, I--" she started to object. Akiko whipped her head around in time to see his pout melt into a grin. "You're just teasing again, aren't you?" A ways behind her, Kenta left the some of the mail on the reception desk, which Shin clearly decided was more interesting than his puzzle. He closed his book and opened the largest envelope, then paged through the papers at his leisurely pace. The rest of the pile went to Muranaka Megumi, the publicity agent, who was straightening some pictures in the corner. Muranaka-san always scolded Kenta for being impolite when he spoke, as well, but Fuji preferred not being treated as a guest.

     "Oh, but you were busy when I came over, weren't you?" Akiko asked. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt."

     "Just entering someone into my contact list. I'm finished now."

     "_Fuji Syuusuke-san's_ contact list," she said in a rather overdramatic tone. "I kind of wish I could see that. Who was it, the Prime Minister? Or maybe Pete Sampras?"

     He set the bite of dinner he'd been about to eat back in the bentou. "... _Pete Sampras?_"

     "Well, I don't know! All your friends seem to be famous people. I thought maybe..."

     She paused at Fuji's raised eyebrow.

     "Well, it's _true_! Just the other week, I'm sure I heard you talking to someone you called Eiji, about his '_partner_' Ooishi!" She leaned in slightly, trying to hide her excitement behind a ladylike air. "Any way I think about it, that's Japan's Golden Pair, isn't it? The ones who went to the Finals at Wimbledon this year? And you were talking about Echizen, too. Is that _the_ Echizen Ryoma? I mean, you said you'd played tennis, but..." He let himself look fairly visibly shocked, and she trailed off. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to listen in. I just couldn't help overhearing, and I've been wondering."

     He laughed off her apology, which seemed to make her a bit more comfortable. "You do realize that even big tennis stars had to go to school with everyone else, don't you?"

     "I suppose that's true," she said with a blush.

     Fuji flipped open his phone and offered it to her. "Here. _Fuji Syuusuke's contact list_. I hope you're not too disappointed."

     Akiko took the phone with a grin, calling up the list to page through the entries one by one and look at their pictures. "Akazawa... Akabeko. You eat at Akabeko? I love their ramen! Oh, and there's me... Akutagawa... Hmm. He sounds familiar, but I don't know his face. Amane, Inui..." She paused and took a long look at the picture. "Inui? _Inui Sadaharu-san_?"

     That was far more of a surprise than the fact that she'd heard of Eiji, Ooishi, and Echizen. Everyone in Japan with a passing interest in tennis knew their names. "How do you know Inui? He never went pro."

     "They told us all about him in cram school while we were studying for the college exams. The teachers said he broke all kinds of records when he got into Tokyo University."

     "I bet they didn't tell you he's running a covert behavioral experiment on the entire student population," Fuji laughed.

     The girl balked. "He's _not_."

     "He certainly is. Of course, he promised that my little brother would be exempt. Inui knows I'd kill him."

     "_Honestly_, Fuji-san. I can never tell when you're joking." Akiko shook off the comment -- which, to be perfectly fair, wasn't even an exaggeration -- and went back to the phone list. "Inoue-san... Oh, wow. And _Ibu_. That's Ibu Shinji, right? Then Eiji is Kikumaru Eiji, Echizen _is_ Echizen Ryoma -- I knew it! And Ooishi Syuuichirou... I've seen them all playing tennis on TV!"

     Fuji shook his head at her wide-eyed, awed expression and took another bite of his dinner. "You didn't follow intramural tennis at all, did you? They're all locals, Akiko-chan. You'd have to leave this school district before you found a player who'd never seen them in person."

     "My school never did well in the sports leagues, I guess. So, I know Ootori... Who's Ojii?"

     "He's my old teacher from back in Chiba." He leaned over to glance at the snapshot of the old man sitting on a park bench. When she clicked the button to move to the next entry, it switched to a picture of a bleached blond in roller skates.

     "Oshitari Kenya, Oshitari Yuushi... Ueda... Your mother, Kaidou, Kajimoto..."

     "There, you see? Absolutely nothing out of the ordinary, and you barely know anybody in there, do you?"

     "Well, I know I've never heard of Kawamura Sushi," she replied.

     "Oh, they're outside of town a little ways, but they're really the best in the area. I can draw you a map sometime."

     "The best?"

     "Definitely."

     "Kisarazu Atsushi, Kisarazu Ryou, Kin-chan... Ah!" she she squeaked. "That's Tooyama Kintarou!" Well, she was sure to have recognized _him_. The Osakan terror was nothing if not distinctive. "You call him 'Kin-chan'? That's so cute! Now, let's see..." she clicked through another name before she paused and gave the screen a very confused look. "Keigo-hime?"

     He turned away from the phone and went back to eating his dinner. "What about Keigo-hime?"

     "Isn't... Keigo a boy's name?"

     Fuji laughed and answered with a shrug. "If Atobe insists on acting like a princess, he will be called accordingly."

     When Akiko went silent for the next few seconds, he turned to face her. She looked like she'd gone into a permanent state of shock, with her eyes locked on the screen. "You have _Atobe_ Keigo's number?" she asked finally. "_The_ Atobe Keigo, from the Atobe Group?"

     "That's the one."

     "But he's..." She seemed to be suffering from a lack of proper descriptions. Fuji would have been happy to supply a few, but he doubted that 'an arrogant jackass' was the phrase she was looking for. "And this isn't just his office, is it? This is _his number_." He had to stop eating and laugh when she grabbed his sleeve and demanded, "Why do you have _Atobe Keigo's_ number in your phone?"

     "Because I like to have some warning if he decides to call."

     "But... _how_?"

     "Zaibatsu brats play tennis, too, Akiko-chan. He wasn't _quite_ the star of the circuit the way he always wanted to be, but he most definitely made his presence known."

     She leaned over and held the screen in front of him. "Is his picture an eggplant because you have to protect his identity? You know, in case strangers sneak a look at your phone, or the paparazzi are targeting him?"

     Fuji bent to whisper in her ear. "He's an eggplant because it's _purple_."

     He left off '_and revolting_'. That would have been petty.

     "Any claims that your friends aren't famous people are completely untrue, Fuji-san."

     "Oh, Atobe is many things, but we're not friends."

     She laughed awkwardly and clicked through three or four more entries. "Ah! I know him! Saeki Koujirou. He's in the society pages all the time." She paused and blinked. "Wow. He's even cuter here than he looks in the paper."

     "Sae-san's a real lady killer," he replied. "I'd introduce you, but I hear he's seeing someone full-time now."

     "Eh... so you know Sanada Gen'ichirou, too?"

     "You know I played on the National level, don't you? _All_ the Japanese tennis stars were in my league. I've beaten most of them."

     Akiko blinked, looking at him with surprise. "But..." She paused, and he raised his eyebrow, questioning her to go on. "It's just... I know you're a _good_ tennis player. I've heard people talk about it. But if you can beat people who are out on tour, you could be out there with them, playing as a pro, not here struggling to make your way as a photographer."

     "Well, I wouldn't say I'm struggling."

     "Do you like photography that much?"

     Fuji smiled. He didn't have a response prepared, and the question wasn't one to which he'd given much thought. He did _enjoy_ taking pictures. Playing in the pros probably would have been fun as well, but he didn't have a reason to go. He didn't have a reason to stay, either. There wasn't much of anything besides what he happened to be working on. It wasn't just because of what he'd told Tezuka, he was sure. He didn't feel like he was waiting for anything, and if he'd had a real drive to go pro, that wasn't a promise he would have felt the need to honor.

     "I guess so," he said to break the silence before it dragged on too long. The last thing he wanted was for Akiko to get curious. He'd planned to stop thinking about Tezuka when he got here today, to stop thinking about how much he'd was looking forward to this year's tournament season. He'd only ever had the chance to really play against Tezuka –- really play him at full strength -– the once. There had never been anything like that before or since. He didn't want to remember how much the thought of losing that had crushed him. He definitely didn't want to wonder if threatening Tezuka with his own disappearance had done the same.

     _You broke his spirit_, Atobe had said.

     How many times had he looked at a tournament's match list, seen the lack of a certain name, and refused to let himself wonder exactly how badly Tezuka's arm had been hurt? Or worse, if there was another reason he'd stayed off the tour. Thoughts like that only led to memories of how he'd told Tezuka goodbye, and he didn't want to be that person anymore.

     He refocused on the girl who was starting to look concerned at him rather than nosing through his contact list as she should have been doing. "Come on. Anyone else you want to know about? I promise, they're all just people."

     Now, once again, he wasn't thinking about Tezuka.

     She smiled a polite little grin. "Sangamu?" she read off the screen. "That's the Indian restaurant around the corner, right?" He nodded and she went on. "That looks like Shishido Ryou. I saw him playing in the last Australian Open. Oh, and Shiraishi-san!" Akiko looked up with a blush. "He's one of my favorites."

     "_Mm-hmm_. I always thought he was pretty hot, too."

     The girl turned even redder, and clicked a few entries down before she went on reading the list. "Taka-san?"

     "An old friend from middle school. If you ever go to Kawamura Sushi, you'll probably meet him. Make sure to tell him Fuji says hello."

     "I will," she promised. She clicked a few more clicks and named a few more names, and Fuji scraped the last of his rice and curry together by the edge of his bentou. "Takizawa, Tachibana, Tezuka... _Kokkou_? That's an odd name."

     He'd known Tezuka's name would be coming, so he didn't flinch. One last bite of his dinner and -- expression carefully non-chalant, eyes locked on Muranaka-san walking from the wall of pictures to the reception desk -- he said, "You read the kanji in his name as 'Kunimitsu', actually. 'Kokkou' is the apple."

     "Oh, I see. Kunimitsu-san, then? That's still a bit odd, though. Kind of old fashioned."

     "I believe it's a family tradition," Fuji answered, and managed to keep a straight face. Thankfully, Akiko moved on without noticing a thing.

     "Your father... The studio, Your sister... Wow." Akiko looked at him again. "She's really pretty."

     She clicked through the rest of the list in silence, looking focused. "Well, you're right. I guess I haven't heard of _everyone_. But it's so cool that you know the Golden Pair!"

     "If you're around next time Eiji calls, I'll let you say hi."

     "Really!?"

     "Really," he said with a nod, smiling at the image in his head of Akiko stammering on the phone to his friend while Eiji gushed. Eiji just loved talking to fans.

     "Yoshi-san..." Keeping an expression off his face was a little harder that time. She'd skipped over more than a tenth of the list in silence, and he hadn't been expecting to hear that name next. After all that had happened today, it was a little harder to hear than usual. Still, he'd managed a smile when the girl looked up. "There's no picture for this one," she said.

     He kept smiling. A smile was always a good idea. "I should probably do something about that, shouldn't I? But I haven't seen Yoshi-san since before I got that phone."

     "That makes sense, then," she replied, and clicked through the last few entries. None of them seemed to catch her interest. "Thank you," she said, and handed the phone back.

     "No problem. So you see? Nothing out of the ordinary."

     Akiko rolled her eyes and sighed. "Just the private phone lines of every major Japanese tennis star on the pro tour, and the occasional heir to a multinational business empire."

     "Like everyone who competed in intramural tennis during middle school," he replied with his brightest expression.

     "I saw Yukimura Sei'ichi in there, too. Don't think I didn't notice."

     Before he could reply, Muranaka-san called out from the desk and cut him off. "_Fuji-san!_ Fuji-san, great news!" The publicity agent was holding one of the envelopes that Kenta had dropped in front of Shin, waving him over to see.

     "What is it?" he asked, and pushed away from the table.

     As excited as she was, she could barely contain her smile to appropriate, business-like size while he walked over. To be honest, Fuji wondered if she might not rather be jumping up and down in her white high-heeled pumps. "It's '_One Half_', Fuji-san!" she called out. "Come quickly."

     He doubled his pace. The studio had received an announcement for Kyuusyuu Sangyou University's exhibit earlier this year. Its student collection would be going on tour, stopping in their area in November, and space would be available for local artists to feature alongside in every city. He'd applied. Of course he'd applied. Most everyone with a portfolio in the region had. There was no better venue to get a picture noticed than the college's annual graduates' show; every major player in the art world went to see it. He'd offered one of his pictures to the studio to send in, but he hadn't expected too much with that kind of competition and no gallery background on his resume. Fuji inferred from Muranaka-san's excitement that he'd done better than he'd hoped.

     She handed him the packet of papers when he approached. "_Dear Fuji Syuusuke-sama_," it read in plain type on the Kyuusyuu gallery's letterhead. "_Congratulations..._"

     "Your picture made the first round of judging!" Muranaka-san exclaimed, clapping her hands together. "This is wonderful. I'll have to tell Nakata-sensei immediately and start drafting the promotional posters." She smiled like a little girl whenever she was excited despite her usual maturity. "We'll want them ready for when your picture gets picked in the final round."

     "Isn't it bad luck to presume that kind of thing, Muranaka-san?" he laughed, not looking up from the letter. The first page in the packet was just a simple announcement, telling him his picture had passed the first stage and telling him about the next round. They'd take submissions, it said, up to five. Well, the form letter said 'three' pictures per artist, but the number had been crossed out and the number 5 written in the margin in neat black pen. Still, if he had five he wanted to send and they decided later that he had to cut down his entry to three, he'd discuss it with them. Those submissions would be judged to determine a final set of candidates, which could include any or all of a given artist's pictures, but only five pictures would feature in the exhibition when it came to the area. The entry form and instructions for submitting pictures were enclosed.

     "Well," Shin said, sounding rather bored, "I figure you'll make it." He flipped open his crossword puzzle book to his bookmark and twirled his pen between two fingers. "Who'd you sleep with, anyway?"

     Fuji noted, when he looked up at the red-haired receptionist, that Akiko-chan and Muranaka-san both looked several times more offended than he felt himself. "I beg your pardon?" he asked. He wasn't about to let that go unanswered, but first he planned to find out what Shin meant by it.

     "What?" the boy replied, noticing the stares and shrugging them off.

     The publicist dropped her hands to her hips. "Nakamura Shin, _bite your tongue_. You know Fuji-san takes excellent pictures. He wouldn't need to do anything of the kind." She turned to him with an apologetic look. "Really, Fuji-san. No one here thinks that."

     He laughed to dismiss the tone in the air. There was no reason to get the ladies upset. All he needed was an answer from Shin.

     "Tsch." The boy ran one hand through his hair and sighed. Without closing his book, he reached for the stack of papers Fuji was holding rather than replying directly. Fuji handed them over. He watched the receptionist page through the stack, still slightly more curious than upset (though, unless this was a truly impressive explanation, he didn't plan to let the comment go). "Ah," Shin said at last, as he found the paper he was looking for and scanned down the page. He recited a line in a dull monotone, as if he'd been reading a selection in literature class. "_You'd better send five, Angel. I don't want to pick anyone else._"

     For just a second, Fuji questioned whether or not he'd be able to move again. There was no way Shin could have made that up. Even if he _would_ have, he couldn't have.

     "Excuse me?" Fuji said, and took the top sheet back to look for himself.

     The paper listed all the detailed instructions for submitting pictures for the final rounds of judging. Once again, the number 'three' was crossed out and replaced with a 'five'. This time, however, there was a note written in the margin as well. It was the same black pen as the correction on the cover letter, and the message Shin had read aloud was written with handwriting he couldn't fail to recognize.

     It didn't make any sense. Yoshi-san wouldn't have taken that kind of liberty with a general contest, even if he'd had the authority. Besides which, he was a second year student. That was hardly a position that allowed someone to change the administration's rules. But it would have made even less sense for him to write something like that as a joke. It wasn't in his nature.

     And to say, '_I don't want to pick..._'

     "Sounds like you were good."

     "Shin!" Megumi scolded again. "Apologize to Fuji-san, right now."

     "I never said it was a bad thing," he answered with a shrug and put the papers down on the desk.

     "You shouldn't have been reading Fuji-san's mail in the first place. That's a personal message."

     "It was addressed to the studio!"

     "It's all right, Muranaka-san," Fuji broke in. "This isn't what it looks like. Well, Shin's not exactly wrong, either. My boyfriend from high school is in his second year at the university, and I really wouldn't put it past him to change the rules if he felt like it. But Yoshi-san is the last person to let me slip by without my work being good enough. I can say that for sure."

     "_Yoshi-san_, huh?" Shin muttered. He wrote an answer down in his puzzle and let out a low whistle. "_Nice_."

     The publicist raised an eyebrow. "A second year student? But you'd have to be a top-level administrator to have a say in whose pictures were selected. Not even the seniors whose work would be in the show have that kind of pull."

     "I'm getting a feeling that this isn't actually the _graduate_ show, Muranaka-san," Fuji said with a laugh, trying to pretend he wasn't embarrassed. "Shin, I don't suppose you saw a publicity sheet in that packet?"

     "Hot pink page on the bottom," he answered as he filled in a few more squares in his crossword.

     The publicist stepped over to the desk and pulled out the paper Shin had mentioned. While she scanned it, she shook her head and said, "Well, it does say it's a special exhibit, not the graduate show. They'll be showing work from one of their students who was recognized by FIAP earlier this year, but I don't see how..." Then her voice trailed off. Looking up from the paper, she asked quietly, "Fuji-san. Your old high school boyfriend was _Aida Yoshiyuki_?"

     He bit his lip and smiled, not answering. He would have preferred to find out that he'd accidentally applied to be in Yoshi-san's show without an audience watching, and without Shin's commentary. The red-head might have some kind of retribution in store even _if_ he'd technically been right.

     Meanwhile, Muranaka-san had lit up again. "Well, it's obvious he still thinks about you," she said. She didn't seem the least bit concerned with the fairness of the contest. "Oh, can you imagine if your old sweetheart came back and tried to sweep you off your feet, just like that? It's so romantic!"

     "Yeah," Fuji replied, thinking of Tezuka's face at the courts today. He set the paper with Yoshi-san's note on the pile and leaned his back against the reception desk. "_Romantic_." He turned a smile up at Muranaka-san, which felt like he was gritting his teeth, but she didn't seem to notice the strain. "I doubt he'll be coming along with the show. He's still a student, after all. The full-time staff will probably be handling it."

     Suddenly her hand shot to her mouth to cover a gasp. "_Oh god_. I thought you looked familiar when you first came in. That was you, wasn't it? In 'Journey to the West'? I can't believe it."

     Perhaps he'd just been lucky that no one in the business had recognized him so far. "He calls it 'Hsi-Yu Chi', actually," Fuji said.

     Even Shin looked up at that. "Holy shit. That _was_ you, wasn't it?"

     Over to his right, Akiko crossed her arms and shook her head. "I _knew_ it."

     That damn picture -- the one he'd refused to let Yoshi-san show for so long. The memories of that day in Chiba were only part of it, as much as it still gave him chills to remember. To find out '_how human your angel is_' was the worst thing that could happen to an artist, Yoshi-san had said.

     '_I'm told it can break your heart_,' he'd said.

     The rest of Fuji's reason was the broken expression on his own face, but that didn't matter in the end. At the last minute, Yoshi-san had softened the whole image and hidden all that behind a filter. He'd never given a reason why; Fuji had known perfectly well that Yoshi-san had liked it the way it was. He'd thought it was the best picture he'd ever taken.

     The silence had gone on too long, though, so Fuji put on a polite smile and lifted a finger to his mouth. Eiji had taught him a trick that never failed to keep people who knew too much from talking.

     "Shh," he said. "Our little secret?"


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yumiko does a tarot reading for Fuji in this chapter, and anyone familiar with tarot will notice that she's not using a standard deck. For the curious, she's using the [William Blake Tarot](http://www.tarotgarden.com/library/articles/wmblaketarot.html).

     The scent of baked raspberries and pastry filled the small kitchen, just like the old days, and Yumiko heard Syuusuke click the shutter on his camera three or four times more. He'd knocked on her door this afternoon as if he could sense that she'd be in the mood to bake. Syuusuke wanted to take pictures to submit for Aida-kun's show this fall, or so he'd said. The worry on his face said he wanted to talk, but he didn't know what to say. That had settled her little debate with herself about what she felt like baking. She knew the scent of raspberry pies had always made Syuusuke happier, whether it was because they reminded him of having Yuuta home, or just of simpler days when they'd all been young. So she baked, and let him sit and chat. From time to time, he'd click the shutter on his camera, and a calm smile spread over his face.

     It must have been a shock, finding out as he had that Aida-kun might be visiting. Had still been thinking of him. Syuusuke had been so confused at the end of high school. Today, a little simplicity was what he'd really needed.

     "You're looking happier," Yumiko commented.

     "You think so?" her brother asked.

     "Definitely." Whisking the whipped cream for the cooling pies into peaks didn't take any attention at all. She could focus on talking to Syuusuke now that he'd calmed down a bit. "Well, I can't say I'm surprised. It must make you a bit nervous, having your old boyfriend come back to town."

     He faltered, dropping the camera down from his eye, laughing with an awkward tone. "Nee-san. Tezuka was never really my boyfriend. We were just..."

     He let the hand holding his camera fall down to his side and brushed some hair away from his eyes as he turned to look out the window. She stopped whisking the cream while she waited for him to talk again.

     Syuusuke hadn't even mentioned that. How long had Tezuka been in the country?

     After a moment, he smiled brightly and turned back. "We never had that kind of relationship."

     She fixed her grip on the bowl of cream and went back to whisking, a bit more slowly this time, as he pulled up his camera to hide behind the viewfinder. On the one hand, it might not be fair to Aida-kun to let Syuusuke's slip of the tongue stand, but really... It wasn't as if she didn't know how things had been between him and his team captain. And her brother had just calmed down enough to start telling her what he was worried about. She had no intention of calling him on it and pushing him back into his shell.

     "Oh?" Yumiko asked instead. "I see. Still, I can't imagine it'd be easy. Have you called him?"

     With a sharp rap of the whisk on the side of the bowl, she cleaned off the stray whipped cream. Syuusuke didn't answer until she turned away to set the bowl of whipped cream in the refrigerator. "I saw him, actually. At the courts on Wednesday. I guess... I went to say hello. It's complicated."

     "Things are never going to be simple, Syuusuke." She walked over to the kitchen table and offered him a chair. "So, what's going on with Tezuka-kun that's so complicated, then?"

     Syuusuke screwed the lens cap over the lens slowly and set the camera down on the table, pushing it as far away as his fingers could reach before he answered her question. "He's back, that's all. Isn't that enough?" He turned to face her with a smile and a sad, bitter laugh. "I just can't help feeling like I'm going to get myself in the same mess as before."

     Yumiko looked at her brother -- sitting uncomfortably in his chair and stretching as if his skin felt too tight -- and reached for a set of mugs by the hot water heater. "Then don't," she said, and set a mug in front of Syuusuke. She filled the little teapot and dropped a few teaspoons of green tea inside. Her brother played with the cup in his hands without looking up to meet her eyes. "If you think it's going to be such a mess, then don't do it. You don't have to spend time with him just because he's in the area."

     "I..."

     He trailed off, looking inside the empty cup for tea that wasn't there yet. Yumiko kept her eyes on him while she set the timer in the bottom of the heater.

     "I said I'd meet him this weekend. We're going out for dinner." His face was tight when he looked up. "I think it might be too late to keep away."

     "It's never too late to decide what you want to do, Syuusuke. If you don't want to see him again, then don't. One date isn't a lifetime commitment." Her brother's shoulders tensed up at the word 'date', like he'd wanted to object that it wasn't a date but had decided not to bother. They both knew better. "And if you do want to see him again..."

     Yumiko reached out, brushing her brother's cheek right where there'd be a tiny dimple if he'd smile properly. "You know, I say it like it's simple, and it's not that easy. If you knew whether you wanted him around or not, you wouldn't be having this problem. Is that right?"

     He put on a smile, though she could see it took effort. "Something like that."

     "If you want my advice, I'd say go slowly. Don't rush yourself into anything you're not sure about."

     "I think I can do that," he answered.

     The timer on the tea beeped quietly, and Yumiko poured half the tea into her brother's cup and half into her own. "And I want you to know, you can come talk to me anytime."

     "I know," Syuusuke said with an easier smile. "Thank you."

     He was looking better, but still worried to be sure. Syuusuke turned the teacup around, studying the patterns in the tiny leaves that poured through the filter. He often did when he was troubled. His silence sounded like it was full of questions he didn't quite know how to ask. There was no helping that, really. From everything he'd said, it sounded like one of those '_never rains but it pours_' sorts of weeks. Tezuka-kun _and_ Aida-kun? He was holding up much better than she would have imagined just a year or two ago.

     "Do you want me to give you a reading?" she offered. "I have my cards right here."

     Her brother laughed, acting shocked by the offer. Surprised at the very least. "That might be terrifying," he said. "I'm not sure I'd want to know if there were going to be trouble." And from the way he bit his lip as he turned back to his tea, she'd say trouble was exactly what he expected to see.

     "The future isn't carved in stone, Syuusuke." Yumiko smiled at him softly. "Maybe if you know there's trouble coming, you can change it. But if you don't want to see a reading, you don't have to."

     He raised his cup to his mouth and blew on the hot tea. The focus of his eyes seemed to be somewhere far away from her little kitchen while he took a short sip, then considered the silt in the teacup for a long minute.

     "Sure," he said at last. "I could probably use the help."

     "All right, then."

     Yumiko reached into her purse to pull out her cards. The case opened in her hands with an easy click and she set the pile in front of Syuusuke. He pushed his tea to the side and picked up the deck like they'd done so many times when they were younger, but his lips were drawn and his hands looked like he was pushing himself to keep them from shaking. He didn't usually let her do a reading when he was nervous about how something might turn out, but then he didn't usually stray far from situations he could control. Tezuka-kun had never been like that.

     Shuffling the cards slowly, Syuusuke breathed in deep and exhaled with a quiver. "It's always a little frightening when you do this, Nee-san. But it can't hurt, right?" he said, putting a smile on his face.

     He set the deck down solidly on the table and pushed all the stray cards back in flush with the sides, then cut the deck in half. The top half, he placed down to his right, then put the lower half on top and pulled off the first card in one fluid motion. "So here's me," he said, and placed the card down in the center of the table.

     "The Man of Painting, hmm?" Yumiko studied the drawing on the card of the man standing on top of a rough ocean, staring down at something he held in his hands. "It suits you. There are a lot of things you're worried about, and you're giving it your full attention. You're looking for an answer, and you're keeping calm, even though this situation could get out of hand easily. That's a good start."

     As her brother bit his lip, staring at the card with a painful expression, she pulled the next card from the deck and laid it on top. The Three of Music, 'Exuberance', turned upside-down so that the figure with yellow wings seemed to be diving toward the ground. "Right now, there's something new beginning, but something is keeping you from pushing forward. You might not believe there's any way to come out of it well, and the people around who care about you are pushing you back from that path. You have to make a motion, but there's nowhere you know you want to go." Yumiko didn't want to let worry show on her face, not when Syuusuke was looking at the card so intently without saying a word. With a deep breath, she pulled the next card off the deck, laying it crosswise across the Three of Music. Syuusuke's eyes went wide then. She could see his arms tense up and his fist clenching under his chin.

     The Angel of Painting, she saw when she looked down, with a girl all in white who stared off into the distance while sitting on golden clouds. "Part of what stands in your way is your own practicality, drawing you off in a new direction, maybe towards ground that you think is more solid. If you want to move towards the new opportunity that's opening up, you may have to take a leap into a risk, where you don't know how you're going to land."

     He didn't say a thing, watching still and silent while she turned the next card. The inverted Ten of Music fell at the bottom of the cross. 'Sublimity', which tied the cause of all this to hidden feelings and love withheld. She remembered her brother's melancholy when Tezuka-kun had left well enough without needing her brother's reminders a few moments before. With the way he'd been reacting so far, there was a chance this wouldn't ease his mind or let him think so much as make him more upset.

     "Syuusuke," she whispered. Her brother turned his eyes up to her, looking nervous. Her cool-headed little brother, who could smile through anything. Yumiko took his hand and squeezed. "If you want to stop, I'll stop. Getting so worked up isn't going to help."

     "No, go on. I'm all right."

     "Okay."

     She took another look at the card -- with its ten trumpeters standing, turned upside-down. "The chains holding you back and the walls closing you in are built on feelings that weren't expressed and love that wasn't shared. Hiding what's truly in your heart. Now there's a barrier keeping you from showing your current feelings to others and keeping others from sharing their true feelings with you."

     Flipping over the next card, moving on before her brother could linger too long on that, she studied the glowing figure flying in the Ace of Painting on the left side of the spread. "The recent push to start a new stage came with a shock. Sex is a factor on both sides, a strong one that drew you to a possibility you didn't expect but couldn't resist."

     The Ace of Science fell at the top of the cross, a shadowy figure reading under a starry sky. She didn't look up to see her brother's face again; the way he'd reflexively squeezed her hand was enough. "New ideas and new solutions come from observing coolly all the aspects of the situation. Your best outcome right now starts with figuring out what your position is. You may find a truth you'd never considered and a solution that doesn't present itself immediately if you take your time to observe." Yumiko played with a bit of Syuusuke's hair, teasing, "Don't get distracted," and making him laugh despite himself. That was better.

     She turned over the final card for the cross –- 'Fancies', the Seven of Music -- reversed to show the seated man in white being visited by a golden spirit from below rather than above. "Those calm observations will be necessary to pull you through emotional confusion peeking over your horizon. There's a challenge coming soon, forcing you to decide what's real and what's a fantasy, subjecting you to feelings that seem to contradict each other. Most importantly, you will have to decide between the present and the future. Your long term goals should be a factor you consider before acting when you find yourself in situations where you need to make a choice."

     "Long term?" Syuusuke asked with a nervous laugh. "I don't know that I have a long term goal to consider."

     "Well, maybe that'll change," Yumiko said, not wanting to put too much of her own assumptions into what she was telling Syuusuke. If he didn't pick for himself, he'd never be satisfied with the choice.

     At the bottom of the staff, to the right of the cross, she placed the Four of Music -- 'Musing' this time, inverted again. The figure she knew was resting in a trees branches seemed to be lying by its roots, reaching to another figure who stood by a river running across the sky.

     "You may not feel like making a change for yourself, but changes will be happening whether you take responsibility for them or not. The watch you keep on your environment may not be sharp enough, and opening yourself up to what's happening and what happened before can make you better able to cope." The next card up showed a man standing on his hands, pushing up from a rockface -- Reversal. But here, the card was inverted, and the man appeared to be pushing the rock up and away while braced against the air itself. "People who support you may not be able to change their perspective if you take a course in this situation that they don't expect. They'll help you look for answers, but in the end the one at the center of the solution is you. Even though there will be people who cannot accept a change easily, even though bearing up may seem impossible, you'll find support where you didn't think it could exist."

     'Discontent', the Eight of Music, was the card she laid down second from the top. "You may be troubled by doubts you didn't expect," she said as she examined the image of men clustered under an ominous sky. "Questions about what you want and whether or not you're in control may come into play. But if you notice that you feel like you might not be seeing the whole picture, stop and take a good look at the world around you. Take note of what you might not see on the surface, and you'll find your way." Breathing deeply to calm herself, since Syuusuke's hand was tense on hers -- tenser than he realized, perhaps, and she hoped her own calm would make him feel more at ease -- she laid the final card on top of the staff.

     The staircase showing on Eternity was upside-down, the figures with their heads pointing down as they climbed up a staircase that descended. "Mistakes repeat, and things fall apart. If you decide you can't change anything, it's a self-fulfilling prophecy. Regret for the past and a keen eye for time that has gone by, if you go on letting them rule your actions, will bring you down in the end."

     "No regrets for me, then?" He smiled and laughed, at the end seeming to be pushed beyond his fears into levity. "Are you saying I should go forward, unfaltering?"

     It was good to hear him say that without sounding bitter. She hadn't been able to see as many of Syuusuke's matches as she would have liked, but there had been more than enough to recognize the words Tezuka-kun had always used to encourage the team. There had been a time not too long ago when she wouldn't have thought he could hear those words and smile.

     "I'm not saying anything," Yumiko teased back. "But the cards are saying it's your life. And you have to move forward or get left behind."

     Syuusuke stood up without a word, stretching his arms above his head. He walked over to the window and pulled the curtain away as he relaxed. Breathing deep and letting the air out slowly, he whispered, "I wonder," with a heartbreakingly painful expression on his face. It wasn't as bad as it could be, of course. She'd seen more than one such expression from him over the years, and this time the lines were softer. She thought she might even be able to see the hint of a smile somewhere in the corner of his mouth.

 

~//~

 

     "Have a good time at your dinner," Kunikazu said to his grandson. Kunimitsu was fidgeting with his cuffs and collar again, tugging it this way and that to make it sit straight while looking in the bathroom mirror.

     He paused and dropped his hands beside the sink. He looked nervous, Ayana had said. She wasn't at all upset, either, that he'd met his young man and was heading out for the night to see him. Oh, she might act like she was a bit ill at ease, but he could tell it wasn't the boy or the way her son felt that bothered her. No woman or man could be upset about that and still smile the way she'd been doing when she watched him step out of his room too jittery to work the clasp on his watch. He'd rather say she'd looked at him with a mother's eyes, who couldn't help feeling joy that her son had found someone he cared for.

     "Fuji Syuusuke, was it?" he asked.

     Kunimitsu ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath, nodding yes without a word. Nervous indeed.

     Maybe he was a doting old man, but he couldn't picture Kunimitsu having a hard time with courting. Not in general, as fine a young gentleman as his grandson was, nor with the way he thought he recalled this Fuji Syuusuke looking back at the boy all those years ago.

     "You should bring him home someday."

     His grandson turned silent eyes down to the bathroom sink. "Yes, sir," he answered.

     He wasn't going to do it. Not yet. It was in his voice.

     "I, for one, would like to meet him, and I'm sure your mother would, too. We didn't speak with too many of your friends back when you were in school."

     The boy looked up, his expression troubled by untold secrets. He was probably asking himself if he'd been found out already, or if he'd be in trouble when the time came for his young man to meet the family. _Let him sweat_, Kunikazu thought. _Be good for the boy. The sooner he decides to tell us himself, the better._

     "Then, someday," Kunimitsu said after a pause. "Thank you."

     He stepped aside to let Kunimitsu out of the bathroom. The boy headed for the kitchen to say goodnight to his mother, offering a proper hug before he walked out the door.

     "Take care, Kunimitsu. I'll see you when you come home."

     "If..." he said , trailing off, then starting again. "Fuji thought we might spend some time talking. Catching up. If it gets late, I may stay in town. I can get a place in a capsule hotel. I wouldn't want to disturb you."

     Kunikazu raised an eyebrow, hidden from both their views by the doorframe. Planning to stay the night in town, was he? Well, the young man in question had always seemed to fancy his grandson as well. Maybe they'd get a confession out of him soon. If he knew his grandson, he wouldn't try to hide a relationship that meant enough to him to seek it out as soon as he came home.

     Ayana squeezed his hand, probably thinking the same thing. "Don't worry about that. Just be safe, and say hello to Fuji-kun for me."

     "Of course," Kunimitsu replied with a nod.

     The front door opened just then, which meant Kuniharu was home from work. A moment later, he walked into the kitchen and saw his son putting on his coat. "Kunimitsu. What's the occasion?" he asked, taking a look at the boy's more careful than usual attire. "You don't have a date, do you?"

     He looked up slowly, taking a moment to think that stretched into a long silence.

     "Dear, remember Kunimitsu said he was going into town to have dinner with an old friend?" Ayana asked him.

     "Oh, of course!" Kuniharu replied. "How could I have forgotten? Well, I don't want to keep you, but I'm glad I got back before you left. The Friday after next, I need you to keep free."

     "I should be able to do that." Kunimitsu seemed to have recovered his facility to speak, even though to an old policeman's eyes it was clear his cheeks were still just the slightest bit flushed. "What plans do you have?"

     He listened closely as his son and his grandson spoke, and he saw Ayana doing the same. Not much happened in this house without either of them knowing it.

     "It's my group leader at work. He's... ah, well..." Kuniharu looked down, scratching his nose. The thing he always did when he was hiding something. The oldest Tezuka knew his own son well enough, even if Kunimitsu looked confused by the gesture and the halting speech. "He's asked me to bring you to a dinner he's arranging. You know, with our family and some colleagues."

     The boy pulled his coat the rest of the way on, a puzzled air on his stony face. After thinking for a moment to himself, he asked at last, "I appreciate his invitation, but does he know that I play tennis?"

     Job offer, Kunimitsu had assumed then. About as good as any guess he had himself.

     "Oh, he's aware of that. He always asks me if you still play. I told him you were in the amateur regionals right now. He wished you luck, by the way."

     "... He knows I plan to play professionally?"

     It was Kuniharu's turn to look startled by the question, as if he didn't see why it would be relevant. "Well... yes, I suppose. We didn't really discuss your career in particular. But it's just dinner, son. Really. He heard you were back home again after so long, and he said I should bring you. Everyone," he said, turning to smile at his wife and his father.

     Tezuka Kunikazu narrowed his eyes at his son, trying to figure out what Kuniharu was trying not to say. Perhaps he was reading too much into it? The division chief at his son's office was fairly uncompromising. If he asked Kuniharu to bring his family, perhaps it was just a request where he couldn't say no. Kunimitsu had never been the most obedient of children, though he'd always been good. He couldn't blame Kuniharu for wondering if he'd be able to drag him along to a company dinner.

     Good thing he'd asked the boy early, before he developed new plans with Fuji Syuusuke.

     "So you'll come?" he asked Kunimitsu nervously.

     His grandson nodded. "I'll be there. It shouldn't be a problem."

     "Great," Kuniharu announced. "I'll let them know on Monday that they can expect you." He clapped Kunimitsu on the elbow, saying, "Have a good time with your friend. I'll probably see you tomorrow."

     "Yes, Father."

     Just as Kunimitsu finished getting himself put together to leave, Kuniharu ducked out of the kitchen to take off his coat and hat and hang them up, having neglected to remove them in his hurry on arriving.

     "Goodnight, Mother. Grandfather," Kunimitsu said quietly, nodding to them both and turning nervously for the door. He sat to put on his shoes, rubbing his nose just like his father did. The boy noticed Kunikazu looking out of the corner of his eye, and he could see every inch of the battle going on inside Kunimitsu's head. Watching him fight himself these past few days, deciding what he could say and what he couldn't, had made the signs easy to see.

     Kunikazu gave the boy a short nod, saying, "Don't worry so much. You'll do fine," and left him to ponder that for the evening.


	10. Chapter 10

     As much as he wanted to avoid Atobe's "help" in the future, Tezuka was glad his friend had been able to recommend a restaurant. He'd had no idea what was in the area. Fuji had seemed to think the little pub was a good choice when they'd spoken, agreeing to meet here at seven. He'd remembered not to mention whose suggestion it was, and he'd reverified the date, time, and location at the end of the call, copying it exactly onto a piece of notepaper, which was now in his pocket -- a few of the creases worn nearly through with unfolding and refolding. He was certain there was no mistake.

     The bustle of the street went by mostly unheeded as Tezuka slipped into contemplation of the small establishment where he and Fuji had arranged to meet. Ever since he'd verified that the sign said "Miyabi" and that this was, in fact, the place, he'd been standing with his back against a nearby telephone pole, watching the entrance from such an angle as made it possible to see people coming from most any direction. The reflection in the window was a bit too dim as evening turned to night for a good view behind him, but no one could approach the door without him seeing.

     A jangling bell snapped him to attention, but as hard as he’d been staring he couldn’t remember where the gentleman and lady stepping inside the pub had come from. _Not Fuji_, he told himself. That was what mattered. Tezuka pulled out his phone to check for a call or a message for approximately the eighth time. Nothing. Of course, he had been early when he arrived fifteen minutes ago. Fuji wasn't late yet. He wouldn't assume there was a problem until a bit more time had passed. At 7:10, he'd call, and not before.

     He caught himself before starting an impatient circuit from the entrance of the restaurant to that of the store next door. Folding his arms across his chest, he studied the red kanji words painted on the windows, but he only felt the nerves simmering in the pit of his stomach. It didn’t help that he was accustomed to being able to consider ten things simultaneously and at the moment he couldn’t even concentrate on one.

     But nothing was wrong. Everything would be fine.

     In his head, he could still hear Fuji laughing on the phone while they made plans. After dinner, his friend had said, he should stay in town and spend some time catching up since they hadn't seen each other in so long. He'd asked where they might go, hoping to have a firm picture of events in his head and in his notes, but Fuji had told him not to think about it.

     '_We'll just make things up as we go along_,' he'd said.

     Instead of checking for messages again, he flipped back through the few calls in his phone's history to look at the ones labeled "Fuji Syuusuke" that he'd received Wednesday. It was the best evidence he had that he hadn't made these plans in the middle of some dream. That he was really waiting for someone who was going to show up. In the days since they'd talked, those brief moments had felt more and more unreal, as if they'd been just another meeting he'd imagined. This time, it had happened. He had proof.

     "Ah, there you are."

     He flipped his phone closed and looked up. The voice had come from behind him, now followed by the whisper-soft pat-pat of someone in casual shoes stepping up from the street. Even though the rustle of the wind and the rumble of the occasional passing car had faded away to nothing, he could hear those footsteps clearly. The street lights had come on while he'd been walking from the station, but dusk was heavy enough, and lights were sparse enough, that most passersby were indistinct, laughing forms. He wouldn't have known one from the other.

     Except this one. Tezuka would have known that person anywhere, at any time, by silhouette and pose if nothing else. He was certain of that now.

     "You weren't waiting long, I hope?" Fuji asked.

     As his old friend stepped closer to the building, the few fluorescent lights scattered through the early evening made everything near them glow -- the wisps of Fuji’s hair caught in the wind not excepted. Tezuka couldn't see the brilliant blue of his eyes that was so clear in the daytime; the city didn't have that kind of magic. But, he thought with a brief pang in his chest, there was his laughing smile, and the graceful way he tucked his hair behind his ear, and how he seemed to shine in a way that had nothing to do with light.

     "Tezuka?" Fuji’s gaze flickered for an instant, eyes darting towards the building behind him. "Is something wrong?"

     "Wrong?" His fist clenched around his cell phone suddenly as he realized -- he’d been staring. "No," he said, dropping the phone into his pocket. "Nothing. Shall we?" Tezuka paused, holding open the door, and tried to bring out some kind of words while Fuji looked at him with a face like he might start laughing any second. "Thank you for coming."

     "This is hardly out of my way, Tezuka. My apartment is just a five-minute walk from here. I usually go to the Indian place around the corner, but--"

     Tezuka let the door fall slightly shut and looked off in the direction where his friend had nodded. "If you'd rather--"

     "Change is good sometimes." Fuji shook his head with a smile. "Let's go in."

     The lights inside made the short corridor into a different world, where the dark silhouette of his friend’s shirt brightened to burgundy and drew Tezuka’s attention to the nape of his neck. His eyes skimmed all the way down Fuji's back before he thought to stop himself. It was hard to look away from the way his hips moved when he walked -- not unlike a big cat moving thoughtlessly through his domain when there was nothing to hunt, no enemies to guard against, and nothing to do but patrol and admire the territory he'd won. In form, it was the same as it had been in middle school, watching him walk onto the court or down the hall to class. The difference made by a few years of maturity and a slimmer cut of pants and shirt, however...

     ...that was distracting. Maybe it had always been distracting, and now he was simply aware of it, but Tezuka was mostly certain that Fuji had a stronger pull about him now than he'd had before. Even more than earlier this week at the tennis courts.

     The entryway ended in a curtain, close enough to the door that when Fuji stopped to push the curtain aside instead of walking right through, Tezuka nearly ran into his back. He was close enough to feel the warmth of his body, and to smell that he used some kind of floral-scented shampoo. It was a light smell -- sweet and pleasant.

     And also rather distracting. Distracting enough that he'd forgotten to be nervous when the man working the front bar greeted them. It wasn't until Fuji moved forward that Tezuka realized he'd let his hand fall on his friend's elbow while they'd been stopped.

     Old habits. They felt so easy, so much more natural than their conversation had been on Wednesday. Too easy, one cautious corner of his mind insisted. After the years of waiting, the troubled looks from just three days ago, all of it added up to something he had every right to worry about, but he wasn't any less happy for that. At least, today, Fuji hadn't shaken off his hand or told him to stop.

     At least he was here.

     A server followed them back to a low table in a back corner, past a few scattered parties of salarymen and office ladies toasting the end of an extra work day, and past the couple he’d seen enter earlier. They’d arrived early enough that there was still a choice of seats far from the more ebullient customers. Even the young lady who laughed fairly often and with a high-pitched giggle was far enough away to ignore. While they took their seats, the server set down a tray of steaming, wet towels and a small plate of mixed vegetables with eel -- the house specialty, Atobe had said.

     "What can I get for you, sir?"

     "Can we start with some edamame and yakitori, please?" Tezuka answered, then wiped off his hands with one of the towels as he glanced at the menu on the wall. "And a bottle of 'Ama no To'."

     "Coming right up."

     Across the table, Fuji cocked an eyebrow and bit his lip to hold a grin in check. Despite the nervous thump in his chest, his head was clear enough now to recognize the look in his friend’s eyes. They were sparkling in a way that he could never forget meant 'trouble' no matter how long he'd been abroad.

     _Did I do something wrong?_ Tezuka wondered, and tried to calm the beating of his heart with little success. There was nothing unusual about edamame or yakitori or the sake he'd chosen. He was certain of that.

     His companion smiled at the waiter, controlling his amusement for the moment. "And some vegetable dumplings, if you don't mind. Extra spicy."

     "Of course."

     With a bow, the man disappeared and left him alone at the table with a Fuji Syuusuke who was now giggling quietly with his hand over his mouth, only keeping himself from falling over by clutching the table. He was almost afraid to ask, but it was better to find out sooner than later.

     "What is it?"

     "Ah, Tezuka..." Fuji said, and leaned over the table as he motioned for Tezuka to lean in as well. The soft murmur by his ear, just the sound and the warmth of it, was... _distracting_ enough that he had trouble focusing on the words. "Did you forget that the drinking age in Japan is twenty?"

     He sat up a bit straighter. "... Oh." It seemed silly to call the server back and explain the situation when, in Germany, he’d grown accustomed to the occasional beer or wine. The only question was Fuji, who seemed amused rather than troubled. That wasn’t a problem, then, was it?

     "Relax. I don't think they're going to card you. They didn't even card _me_."

     "I wasn't concerned about that." The words came easily at first, but anything he had meant to say afterwards faded out of his head. There was something captivating in the ordinary motions of Fuji setting his place in order. As if the man responsible for the Tsubame-gaeshi and the Gatekeeper of the Hecatoncheires could do anything at all without a stunning grace. Perhaps he was just unrolling his napkin, but Fuji had always had particularly nice hands.

     His fingers curled just so around his chopsticks, and his chin rested on the back of his hand while he propped his elbow on the table with such perfect casual elegance. It was hard to believe that, not five minutes before, Tezuka had been worried that some illusion he'd convinced himself was a memory had tricked him into waiting outside a small pub for someone who might not appear. Fuji was so... present. The world itself sharpened around him, lending richness to all the colors that he hadn’t noticed before. He somehow knew he’d never forget the dark, laquered grain of the table, or the spray of bamboo painted on the dish to which his friend pulled a few bites of the appetizer. It was as if his sense of perception, of taking in the world, had flicked on just like a lightswitch, and he hadn’t even noticed it was off.

     He managed to catch his breath just as his friend stopped laughing in order to eat, and the sharp blue of his eyes reminded Tezuka that he should be talking and not staring. "It's not as if we're far from twenty," he concluded.

     "Speak for yourself." His increasingly distracting companion stretched his arms over his head with a smile that looked pleasant and easy. "My birthday's still more than half a year away, and I'll only be turning five."

     Watching him, so at ease like that, Tezuka had no doubt -- the only reason Fuji had faltered when they'd met a few days before was because he'd caught his former teammate off guard somehow. Today, Fuji was better prepared. He could appreciate the reason -- it turned out there was a world of difference between knowing something would happen, knowing how it would happen, and most of all having it actually take place. But now...

     His friend had a laugh he thought wasn’t entirely false. He remembered the difference.

     As he watched Fuji lift another mouthful with his chopsticks, Tezuka forgot completely that he'd picked up his own plate. His companion's hair was a little different from five years ago, but all the same, it was exactly the same hair he'd seen catch the sun so many times before, and Fuji pushed it over his ear with the same motions that had caught his eye so many times in class -- all those times when he’d decided not to scold Fuji for looking out the window instead of listening to the teacher.

     Then Fuji wiped his mouth with a strange quirk to his smile. "Really, Tezuka. Is there something on my face? I didn't touch wet paint or something, did I?"

     "I beg your pardon?" The weight of the plate in his hand suddenly registered in his mind, and he set it down, trying to remember what he’d been doing.

     This time, when Fuji looked off to the side and bit his lip, Tezuka could see a faint flush in his cheeks that might have been hidden before by the darkness outside. It didn't disappear when he met Tezuka's gaze straight on, with a sparkle in his eyes that made Tezuka feel like his heart had inexplicably jumped into his throat. "You must be staring at something," Fuji said.

     "Well..." he started, and pulled his chopsticks parallel to the table edge while he stalled for time.

     It was difficult to find a short, proper answer.

     "I... like seeing you," he tried. The first words he’d thought of.

     They had sounded fine enough as he had said them. Tezuka hadn't considered that his answer might put him in forbidden conversational territory until he saw those blue eyes across the table widen ever so slightly -- saw Fuji’s smile and shoulders subtly drop. In that heartbeat, all he could do was hope as hard as he knew how to do that his friend wouldn't get up and leave. And to save his life, he couldn't think of another thing to say.

     After a pause, Fuji dropped his eyes to the table, brushing away some imagined imperfection in his hair. Even the hint of a smirk -- amusement and not ire, all he could ask for -- couldn't settle the beating in his chest that froze Tezuka in place.

     "Well, you've got all night," his friend mock-scolded. "You don't have to do all your looking at once."

     He was certain he'd never heard a more welcome reproof. "Of course," Tezuka replied.

     He couldn't put words to what had just happened, but he knew it was good.

     _Say something_, Tezuka thought to himself. _After five years, there's so much to catch up on_. Even he had be able to start a conversation.

     "How was your day?" he tried first. When he looked up from the table, he noticed that Fuji was still looking at him, though his friend's eyes darted away as soon as he noticed.

     "Ah, well..." The server arrived just in time to cut off his statement and placed the various dishes they'd ordered around the table, along with the slightly illegal bottle of sake and two small cups, but only stayed long enough to remind them that they could ask for anything on the menu throughout the night and he'd bring it right over. Fuji pulled two of the dumplings and a skewer of chicken onto his plate while Tezuka filled his friend's sake cup. "Thank you," he said. "So, today, hmm? I guess you could say it was nothing unusual. Finished fixing up some prints at the studio and sent them off to a magazine. Read a book, hit a few balls, took a bath."

     Fuji picked up the bottle to fill Tezuka's cup, and with a nod, he swirled the cup and took a sip of the sake poured by Fuji's own hands. Whatever else might happen, this was where he wanted to be.

 

~//~

 

     "And you should see Momo trying to play coach. I don't know how he's managing it, but every once in a while the kids do listen to him."

     The former captain of the Seigaku Middle School tennis team had a softened curve to his mouth that Fuji remembered was a silent laugh -- he'd been so proud to have determined that before winter break their freshman year. And Tezuka seemed to smile more easily now than before... though, to be fair, they were approaching tipsy.

     Not drunk. He’d seen drunk. He could see it right now if he cared to look behind him at the salarymen falling over with their ties strung about their heads, but why would he want to when Tezuka was smiling across the table? And he didn’t even feel woozy. Oh, for sure, if you'd told him when he was twelve that his first date with Tezuka would involve sharing a bottle of sake -- or three, he supposed, at this point -- well into the darkening night, he'd have called you crazy. Almost as crazy as if you'd told him that his first time making out with someone would have been in the Hyoutei darkroom instead of in the Seigaku clubhouse.

     But he wasn't thinking about that right now.

     Right now, he was carrying on most of a conversation with a quiet but attractive man who just _happened_ to be Tezuka. He didn’t even need to remind himself to stay in control of the situation lest he 'lose' to his former captain -- though he had his sister to thank for reminding him that Tezuka wasn’t his opponent. Had this been what he was dreading?

     Well, he knew one thing for certain. This wasn't like middle school. This wasn't ambiguous. This was Tezuka, telling him that whatever had drawn them together years ago had mattered.

     Couldn't that be a choice, too? Tezuka saying he wanted to be together again. He'd wanted that once. It wasn’t a bad choice, really. More like one burning hot temptation of a choice wrapped up in a stoic crust that he could flake off bit by--

     _Oh dear. It's entirely possible that I'm a little drunk after all_, Fuji thought -- not seeing any reason to stop admiring the way Tezuka's collar bones peeked out of a shirt two buttons gone. He'd clearly had good taste when he was in middle school. And he wasn't _very_ drunk. He was sure of that.

     "So, Kaidou's in veterinary school," said his former captain. He'd stayed in seiza far longer than Fuji had, but quite a while ago had shifted to a more relaxed seat, with one arm draped over a knee he'd propped upright. "What did Inui think of that?"

     Fuji bit into a piece of tempura -- a slice of carrot, he thought it might be, as crisp and savory and velvet on his tongue as a long-lost name he’d enjoyed saying again -- while he pretended to think and let himself stare a little longer at the warm light in Tezuka's eyes. Why had he ever thought this was a bad idea? There had been something... And Nee-san had said something...

     But if it was important, he'd remember. When it mattered, he'd remember, anyway.

     Now, he’d asked about...Inui? Easy enough.

     "You know, I think before Kaidou even mentioned what he was thinking, Inui had a list of schools ready for him, complete with pros and cons. He helped Kaidou study for his exams, too -- though just between us, I think he tried extra hard helping Kaidou with the test for Aoyama. It was closest to TouDai, so he's still close enough that they can train together. I'd say Inui came out on top of that one." He set down his cup and leaned into the table, resting his chin on one hand and declining to comment on what Yuuta had said his girlfriend had told him about seeing Kaidou visiting in class (and one day, he’d admit she was his girlfriend even if he had to be racked and pinioned).

     Tezuka probably didn’t want to hear Freshman Chemistry gossip about how Inui wasn't quite as 'on top' of Kaidou as he'd like to be.

     Besides, he'd been talking long enough, and it was so much fun to watch Tezuka struggle for something to say. So he reached out and brushed the back of his captain's hand with a smile, taking in every miniscule, half-degree raise of an eyebrow. Did he like that, maybe?

     Fuji pulled back, but left his own hand within reach. Tezuka had to do some of the work, or it wouldn't be fun.

     "But what about you? You must have been doing something worth talking about. Did you coach anyone I know?"

     "Not me," the captain answered with a shake of his head. "People do come through -- Gael Monfils was just there for two weeks, right after the match with Hrbaty in Madrid -- but only senior staff deal with ranked pros."

     The way Tezuka's eyes tracked his hands when he poured a little more sake to top off his former captain's cup had only grown more pronounced as the evening wore on, so he took a bit of care in how he held the bottle, how much he tilted it at once -- trying to show the whole process to its best advantage. If his 'date' wanted to pile up moments where he'd drift out of the world for a moment, lose himself in staring through those oddly fixed, oddly intent eyes, Fuji had no mind to argue.

     '_I like seeing you_,' he remembered Tezuka saying, and a pleasant shiver down his spine. He never would have expected Tezuka to be anything but direct... but still... To hear words like those out of a man who'd probably been formal in the cradle, who he’d always wanted to pay him that kind of attention...

     When he finished pouring, he let his hand rest between the bottle and Tezuka's cup, right where it would be easy to take or even brush against 'by accident'. Just like he hoped, his captain got lost staring, and their fingers crept closer together. He waited until he could feel the heat from Tezuka’s skin before he withdrew his hand a centimeter or two and leaned in closer across the table to enjoy the nervous realization in Tezuka’s eyes that he’d been staring longer than he meant to. Didn’t hurt, either, to be closer when he wanted to hear the deep, oratory tone of Tezuka's voice -- however simple and everyday his words were.

     "I suppose Echizen visited occasionally, and..." His voice trailed off, even as his hand followed Fuji's lead and pulled back toward his cup. Well, that wouldn't do. If he really wanted to get anywhere, a casual brush might have brought them together, finger to palm. The thought of the caress that almost was tingled in his skin, starting in the hollow of his hand, but shooting up through his whole arm like a live current. It was as if a touch had jumped like a spark might over the space between skin and skin. Tezuka's hand spread, suddenly pressed hard against the table, and he skipped over cup and hand both to pick up the bottle with all apparent calm. He topped off Fuji's cup and finished his sentence, "...and that's about it."

     He could hear the silent 'Atobe', even if Tezuka was polite enough not to mention it, but most everything Hyoutei made the list of things he wasn't thinking about, and that definitely included Atobe.

     Clearly, he’d have to punish Tezuka for making him think about it -- not to mention for failing to pick up his hand -- and he thought he’d figured out just the thing. Nonchalant as possible, Fuji grinned and ran the fingers his captain had declined to hold through his hair. "Say, Tezuka... You know, there’s this one aide at the studio who’s got this _electric_ red hair. And I've been thinking, wouldn't it be fun to do something like that? How do you think I'd look with red like that?"

     For the first time in a long time, he got to see that lovely expression on his captain’s face -- the one that was so blank that if anyone else ever got to see it, they’d find his regular face downright expressive. The only part of him that didn't look paralyzed was his eyes, filled to burst with horror, like he'd just seen his own soul running for the afterlife. Oh, how he'd missed that look. Tezuka's horror was better than everyone else's, like everything Mr. Perfect did.

     "Your... hair..." he objected, apparently having difficulty moving his mouth enough to speak.

     "Not red, then? Well, I wouldn’t want to get confused with Shin anyway. Maybe blue would be better? I could match my eyes." It was sort of cute to see Tezuka taking the idea so hard. Flattering, too. Well, lucky for the captain he wasn't planning to stop dying it brown any time soon then, wasn't it? He'd hate to see Tezuka die of the shock. But he wasn't planning to give him an easy time either. Fuji pouted, pretending to be upset. "You mean... you wouldn't be seen with me if I dye my hair blue?"

     The other man went from paralyzed to panicked, clear from the tiny twitch in his lip "No, that's not..." After a pause, he restarted with, "Whatever you want, I'd..." He blinked, and the moment passed. Calm and control back where they belonged. "The color you have suits you. You don't need to change."

     He smiled silently at his captain's decided attachment. There was certainly no reason to complain about his 'date' having opinions of _that_ sort, as long as they agreed with his own. After Tezuka took up his sake for a sip, Fuji did likewise, and decided to stay silent -- let the quiet captain cast about for something to say to restart conversation. He looked so delightfully pained when he tried that.

     The comfortable pause lasted a few moments while he watched Tezuka put down an emptied cup and stack the likewise empty plates into one neat tower out of their way. He wasn't quite anal enough to turn them all so the patterns were facing the same direction. Not quite. That, or he looked up to see Fuji laughing at him softly and took it as a cue not to bother. Fuji didn't look away this time when Tezuka seemed to gaze transfixed -- he hadn't bothered the last several times either. If he looked away, he couldn't study the way those eyes changed tone from a wooden brown to a gold like liquid fire when they caught the light. Would it show up on film, he wondered? That distant longing that said volumes without a word? Would anyone ever believe him if it vanished like a vampire's image when he tried to capture it?

     Eventually, Tezuka always realized he was staring and turned his eyes to the side wall while he brought himself back to his senses. Then he'd try to say something to cover for his 'mistake' and move on to some thread of their mutual history or other. What would it be this time, Fuji wondered.

     His captain kept his appearance of calm reserve, pretending nothing had changed as he looked to the wall and back again. "You said you were going to be in an art show?" he asked, faint traces of hard thought on his forehead hidden by the rakish fall of his bangs.

     "Saying I'm in it might be a bit hasty," Fuji answered, "though I've got a good shot, I suppose, given..." Whatever explanation he might have given about Yoshi-san dried up on his tongue. He didn't want to mention that. Not really at all. Really not now. But Tezuka was staring at him, this time with an intensity of questions. "...given how the selection committee responded," he finished, smiling brightly -- or so he hoped. "They want me to submit extra pictures beyond the standard three."

     His captain didn't give any indication that he'd noticed the pause. Safe for now, but he had to change the topic.

     "Down to the last dumpling," Fuji said, and picked it up with his chopsticks. To be perfectly reasonable, they could order more, but they'd probably want to find somewhere else to sit and chat soon. He was getting full, and Tezuka hadn't eaten anything in a bit either. "Oh, but Tezuka... you haven't had any yet. Here..."

     He dipped it in the spiciest sauce on the table to complement the extra kick the kitchen had consented to give them, and a certain pale shadow of dread (ever so subtly different from the horror over hair dye) fell over his captain's hard expression. If making Fuji think _once_ about topics he'd set as off limits called for punishment, all the better if doing it twice in succession made him sweat.

     Fuji straightened up into seiza again, leaning across the table slightly to offer the dumpling directly, ignoring the way Tezuka tried to hand over his plate for Fuji to set down the heat-infused mouthful. While he waited, a drop of the sauce fell on the hand he’d carried under the dumpling. "Come on," Fuji said. It was just a bite, after all. Why involve a plate?

     There was a blush on his captain's cheeks so slight one might have called it a trick of the light, but Tezuka leaned forward and steadied Fuji's hand with his own to take the bite anyway. His pulse hit sharply while, just for a moment, Tezuka didn't let go. Damn the chopsticks he was holding. If it weren't for those...

     He contemplated the drops of spice on his thumb and palm while Tezuka’s last lingering fingers slipped away. If he told his captain that he needed to get _all_ of it, would Tezuka ever consent to--

     No. No matter how he might like to convince Tezuka to employ his tongue, it wasn’t likely he’d ever do something like _that_. Not in public. But it was a nice thought all the same. And it made the subtle stain of sauce left on the corner of Tezuka’s mouth that much more provocative. Clearly, that one was his responsibility. He tested the sauce on his thumb and imagined how it might taste on the firm press of Tezuka’s lips. Would the man be just as surprised by a kiss as the boy had been five years ago? A confused shiver rocked through his chest as he remembered so clearly... everything. He couldn’t be the one to kiss Tezuka first this time. Rules were rules, and he’d definitely promised himself that before he’d come here tonight. But he wanted to know.

     Tezuka managed the bite that Fuji knew would have sent Eiji running, screaming for milk, and he swallowed it down with barely a wince. "Not bad," the man said, with the light that caught his glasses hiding any visual discomfort -- though his voice couldn't disguise it properly. So many expressions no one had ever believed Fuji could see. If only he had his camera, he could snap a picture and hold that instant still so they could see Tezuka through his eyes.

     He put down his chopsticks and wiped his hands properly on his napkin, pouring Tezuka the last half-cup of sake in the bottle. His captain drank it with moderate haste, not enough to betray his calm exterior, and said, "Thank you."

     "Anytime." On a whim, he brushed the spot of sauce from Tezuka’s lip with his finger, then sucked it clean. That wasn’t breaking any rules. For the first time in far too long, Fuji would have described his mood as 'sparkling'. He used to feel that way quite often, he remembered now. Like he could do anything he thought of, and ideas or plans just popped into his head with no effort whatsoever. It'd be nice if the feeling would stick around.

     It’d be nicer if his whims kept his captain losing his breath and finding the raw yearning that had glinted in his eyes for a split second at his touch. But there was only so much good that would do either of them here.

     "We should go back to my apartment," he said, the words rolling off his tongue before he could consider the lines between what he was thinking and what he was saying.

     Fuji bit his lip before anything less innocent could slip out, though he couldn’t suppress a laugh. He sipped the last of his own sake while he considered how to answer his old friend’s wordless, perplexed stare. That had been abrupt by any standard.

     "Speaking of pictures, I mean. I have a roll of film with your name on it." That wasn’t breaking rules either. If Tezuka was going to be around, making him want to capture every little expression, he might just have to take a chance at what a certain someone had always told him he could do -- let the world look through his eyes at something they kept missing. For the first time, he thought he might want to try. To really try. There was so much there that he couldn't help seeing.

     And what was that look now? Embarrassment? Confusion? Even for him, sometimes Tezuka was hard to read, between the subtle shifts in the etched line of his mouth or the complete lack of expression in the forehead. It was all in the strong cheekbones (almost as gorgeous as his collarbones, and just as tempting), the way he opened his eyes, the little ridge above his nose...

     "I don't photograph well," Tezuka answered -- an attempt to dodge the invitation, then. But was he trying to avoid having his picture taken, or ... ? Well, that was probably all it was. Fuji remembered how badly local magazines managed to capture Seigaku's captain, it was true. Maybe it actually was like Yoshi-san said. They could only capture what they saw, and all anyone else could see of Tezuka was the monolith, the pillar. Not the best subject for a photographer attuned to dynamic action. He could do better.

     Fuji's face remembered exactly the look of disappointment that his captain could never refuse, and it was so easy to slip into. "Which one of us is the professional photographer, Tezuka? Couldn't you give me a chance?"

     Before the words were even out of his mouth, an image popped into his mind of Yoshi-san in some studio in Kyuusyuu, finding a picture of Tezuka among his entries. For once, he couldn’t predict what he thought his ex-boyfriend would do or say... it’d certainly be interesting, whatever it was. But it wasn’t as if Tezuka was 'half' of anything. It was too silly to consider sending a picture just to get a reaction when it wouldn't even fit the theme.

     Instead, he let a pleasant thrill run straight from the tingle in the back of his neck down to the curl in his toes. Tezuka was coming home with him tonight. That hadn't been in the plan, but... why the hell not?

     He never thought for a moment that Tezuka would refuse him. And as soon as he saw the subtle flush in his cheeks, the depth of focus shift in his captain's eyes -- as if he were suddenly looking at something far away rather than at someone just across the table -- Fuji was completely certain he'd win.

     _Not_ that this was a game.


End file.
